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MARY IN CALIFORNIA 




THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 

NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 


MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE MACMILLAN CO. OP CANADA, Ltd. 

TORONTO 



(From painting by Mead Schaeffer) 


MARY AND TRIX IN MUIR WOODS 



MARY IN CALIFORNIA 


BY 

CONSTANCE JOHNSON 

AUTHOR OF “MARY IN NEW MEXICO,” ETC. 


/ 


gotft 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1922 


All rights reserved 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



Copyright, 1922, 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1922. 


Press of 

J. J. Little & Ives Company 
New York, U. S. A. 


OCT 11 ’22 

©C1A686198 



MARY ABIGAIL, 


THE MAINSTAY OF THE FAMILY, 
WHOSE FRIENDLY CRITICISM, AND 
NUMEROUS ACTIVITIES HAVE BEEN 
THE INSPIRATION OF THIS BOOK 



INTRODUCTION 


To try to tell all the wonderful things of Cali- 
fornia in one small book is impossible. There is 
only space for a hop, skip, and jump sort of visit. 
The author hopes that she will make other young 
people wish to follow Mary to the Golden State and 
learn for themselves its many attractions, even if 
they cannot have quite all the adventures that came 
to this American family Robinson. But the welcome 
of the Californians will be there in good measure. 

The author wishes to thank all the good friends 
who helped to make this book possible, and espe- 
cially those at Mills College. 

Thanks are also due to the Pasadena Star News 
for permission to use a photograph, and to the Na- 
tional Geographical Society for several pictures. 

Credit is due to the following books and their 
publishers : 

“The House of the Dawn,” by M. E. Ryan, 
published by McClurg & Co. 

“The Flute of the Gods,” by M. E. Ryan, 
published by Fred. Stokes & Co. 

“First Through the Grand Canon,” by Major 
John W. Powell, published by Macmillan Co. 

“The Indian Book,” by Natalie Curtis, published 
by Harper & Bros. 

vii 


Introduction 


viii 

Special permission was obtained from Miss 
Marian Davis, of Mills College, for the use of her 
play, “The Matilija Poppy,” which was presented 
at Mills College, and is protected by copyright. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I. 

A Holdup — We Meet El Lobo Again 

i 

II. 

First Sight of the Grand Canon — A New 



Indian Friend .... 

12 

III. 

On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the 



Canon ..... 

29 

IV. 

A Forest Fire near Los Angeles . 

49 

V. 

Los Angeles .... 

65 

VI. 

Smugglers in the Channel Islands . 

75 

VII. 

Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills 



College ..... 

94 

VIII. 

The Ring Causes Excitement — We Visit 



San Francisco .... 

no 

IX. 

The Greek Theater at Berkeley . 

127 

X. 

The Pacific Fleet Visits San Francisco 

138 

XI. 

The Pageant .... 

150 

XII. 

Tamalpais and Muir Woods — Trix Gets 



Lost ..... 

158 

XIII. 

We Meet El Lobo and Have an Adventure 



at Bolinas .... 

171 

XIV. 

The Road from Bolinas and an Invitation 



to a Baseball Game 

183 

XV. 

From the Sequoias to the “Resolute” 

197 

XVI. 

Navy versus Army — The Last of the Ring 

210 

XVII. 

Movies and an Aeroplane in Los Angeles . 

225 

XVIII. 

A Farewell Gift from China 

236 



N 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Mary and Trix in Muir Woods .... Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

The mules’ heads were turned toward the chasm . . 32 

The pageant at Mills College 33 

The girls use it for swimming and picnics and fetes . 106 

Great cliffs and the long sandy beach below . . . 107 

San Francisco’s Golden Gate 144 

Winter sports in the Yosemite 105 

Great barges of symbolic figures 236 

This simply can’t be the first of January . . . .237 


* 


* 


MARY IN CALIFORNIA 


CHAPTER I 

A HOLDUP — WE MEET EL LOBO AGAIN 

IXT'E were awakened by being thrown violently 
* * from one side of the berth to the other, and 
by the sound of the grinding of the brakes against 
the wheels and the abrupt stopping of the train. In 
an instant the night’s quiet was broken by eager and 
alarmed questions from the rest of the suddenly 
aroused sleepers as to what had happened. Bells 
were rung for the porter from many quarters. But 
before he had time to appear, the Doctor peered 
between the curtains, flash light in hand, and asked 
if Trix and I were all right. 

Trix, our seven-year-old, who slept with me, had 
only half awakened, as she was thrown against me 
rather than the side of the car. I saw that the 
Doctor had drawn on his trousers and coat. 

“I think something must have happened,” he 
said. “If you are not hurt I will go forward. Dave 
and Mary are putting on some clothes, and it would 
be well for you to do so too.” 

The bells were still ringing in the car, and we 
could see in the dim light disheveled heads and half 


2 Mary in California 

clad legs and arms protruding from berths as the 
male passengers prepared to investigate; At that 
moment the porter came along. He was greeted 
with questions: 

“What has happened?” 

“Has there been an accident?” 

“Now don’t you folks be skeert. Just stay in the 
car along with me,” was the reply. Which would 
have been reassuring if the man’s voice had not 
been shaking with fear and his eyes fairly popping 
out of his head. 

“No, I ain’t seen the conductor, but I know it’s 
all right.” 

“No, I cyan’t go out to see. It’s mah duty to stick 
to mah car. What would dey say to me if I left mah 
car in the middle of the night, boss?” 

There was considerable grumbling, but many of 
the passengers quieted down, though still talking 
together in low tones. Two or three imperfectly 
dressed men issued from behind the curtained berths 
and stood rather foolishly in the aisle. The porter 
started to go to the back of the car. At that 
moment three distinct shots were heard coming from 
somewhere toward the front of the train. Instantly 
an uproar broke out in the car, and amid the 
confusion the porter permanently disappeared. 

At the same moment Mary and Dave, the rest 
of our family, appeared, dressed and full of 
excitement. 

“Mother, what has happened; where is Dad; 
where are we?” 

Where were we indeed? The only thing I knew 


A Holdup — We Meet El Lobo Again 3 

for certain was that we were on the train running 
west from Santa Fe, and that our husband and 
father, who was expected to lecture at Mills College 
in a week, had left us in the night, clad in shoes and 
trousers superimposed on pajamas, heading toward 
some unknown adventure in the dark. We were a 
peaceful New England doctor’s family. I felt as 
confused as a Fifth Reader would feel if Nick 
Carter, detective, suddenly appeared between its 
covers. 

“Where’s Dad?” repeated fourteen-year-old 
Mary, the oldest of the children, her gray eyes 
black with excitement and her bobbed hair flying in 
all directions. “Has he gone forward?” 

“I’m going too,” added Dave. He looked quite 
fierce in the dim light, his red unbrushed hair 
standing straight up on his head, without a necktie, 
his collar unbuttoned, and his shirt tails stuffed 
unceremoniously into his trousers. 

Trix was wide awake by this time. She was too 
excited to dress, and climbed about the berth in her 
short white nightie and bare feet. 

Two more shots were heard. 

“Mother, we must go and see,” cried Mary. 

“Indeed you must not,” I answered. “It might be 
a holdup. The trains are sometimes cut in two, 
and my end of it might be left here while your part 
went on.” 

I slid down on to the floor, sufficiently dressed as 
I thought, to be greeted with laughter by the two 
children. 

“Now, Mother, you can’t be a rock of Gibraltar 


4 


Mary in California 

with your hair hanging down your back and the 
canons between your skirt and waist only half hidden 
by your coat. I may go — say yes — of course I can,” 
and Mary started down the aisle. 

I grasped Dave by the arm. “Your father would 
be very angry if you went, Dave,” I said. 

“But, Mother, he told us always to stick to- 
gether,” objected Dave. “Let me run after her. 
We won’t go far, I promise you. Please, Mother” 
— and without waiting for an answer he broke from 
my loosening grasp and rushed after Mary. Sev- 
eral men had gone to the front of the car, and I felt 
sure they would prevent the children from leaving 
it. I turned my attention to dressing Trix, who since 
the departure of Mary and Dave had decided that 
she wanted to have her clothes on. 

All sorts of vague rumors began to float about. 
We heard that the train had gone off the track, that 
the express car had been entered by bandits, that 
we would all be robbed, perhaps murdered. Trix 
was enjoying it all thoroughly. 

“Look at that lady, Mother,” she giggled. “See, 
that one — she’s holding her hair in her hands — she 
hasn’t any on her head. And oh, Mother, what fat 
looking legs that one has.” 

I tried my best to subdue her interest in a stout 
gentleman with a hat on and little else. He was 
holding a set of false teeth in his hand. A young 
woman with gaily painted cheeks kept poking her 
head from between the curtains of her berth and 
calling for the porter, while a gentle elderly lady 
repeated over and over again, “Henry cannot stand 


A Holdup — We Meet El Lobo Again 5 

excitement unless he has his coffee. Can’t I get 
some coffee somewhere?” 

We were about to quiet down again when a shot 
rang out close by and a bullet whizzed through my 
window, breaking the glass. Instantly shrieks were 
heard on all sides. Trix and I were fortunately jn 
the corridor of the car, and so were not hurt. But 
I confess to feeling strange and not a little anxious. 
Then came the sound of loud voices and a man in 
uniform, the Pullman conductor, entered the car 
followed by a little troop of passengers. 

“Don’t be alarmed, ladies,” he said. “There has 
been a slight accident — the engine ran off the track 
and a gang of robbers tried to hold up the train, but 
we got one of them and the rest are gone. So you 
can all turn in again.” 

“Is any one hurt?” asked a woman’s voice. 

“Yes, the bandit we captured. No one else, I as- 
sure you. He is being attended to by a doctor. Is 
every one all right here?” 

“Our berth is full of broken glass,” I said. “A 
bullet went through the window.” 

The conductor was all interest in a moment. “You 
are sure that you are not hurt,” he wanted to know. 
“Nothing broken except the window — nothing in- 
jured?” 

I assured him that all was well. 

“The porter must make your berth up again. 
Where is the porter, anyway?” 

“He’s probably in the linen closet praying for 
Lady Luck to help him,” suggested Dave, who had 
joined us with Mary. 


6 


Mary in California 

The conductor, who had evidently read the stories 
of Lady Luck and the Mascot Goat, laughed heart- 
ily, and then pressed the bell button several times. 
Presently the porter appeared. He was looking a 
little untidy and soiled, but assured the conductor 
that he had stuck by his car. 

“I wouldn’t leave mah car and mah passengers, 
boss,” he repeated. 

The conductor told him to make up the berth 
again and be quick about it. 

“Be sure and let me know if anything was in- 
jured,” was his parting word to me. 

Every one had retired by this time behind the cur- 
tains, though there was a good deal of more or less 
quiet talking going on. I sent Mary and Dave, pro- 
testing, back to their berths. The porter kept up a 
steady stream of words: 

“I told you all I wouldn’t leave mah car. I always 
stick by mah passengers.” 

Trix and I were just settling down to rest when 
the Doctor appeared. Of course I wanted to know 
all the details at once. We left the indignant Trix 
in her berth and went out on to the platform. The 
door of the vestibule was open, and we could look 
out on a clear, cold, starry night amid a scene of 
rocky desolation. Great crags seemed to surround 
us on all sides, wonderful and wild — the mountains 
of our well loved New Mexico. 

“It really has been an exciting night,” said the 
Doctor. “The bandits had tampered with the rails, 
and if we had not been going slow around the curve 
we might all have gone to glory. As it was the 


A Holdup — We Meet El Lobo Again 7 

engine bumped along on the ties and stayed right 
side up, until brought to a stop. The clerk and mes- 
senger on the express car opened the door to see 
what was going on, and were confronted by two six- 
shooters. But the messenger is a husky fellow, over 
six feet and strong as an ox. He took a chance and 
jumped right on top of the men with the guns. 
There was some excitement for a few minutes, but 
of course the pistol shots brought the train crew 
running. Two of the bandits escaped, but the fellow 
the messenger had landed on never budged. He was 
squeezed nearly flat and had a bullet in his arm be- 
side from his friend’s revolver. And now comes the 
best part of the whole story — who do you think the 
bandit was? Just our old friend El Lobo, from 
New Mexico.” 

“It isn’t possible !” 

“Not possible, but it is, just the same. And what 
do you think he had strung on a chain about his neck? 
Nothing less than Mary’s lost Indian ring.” 

“Now come,” I said, “you are telling me the plot 
of a movie.” 

“I am not, it is the sure-enough truth. And you 
ought to have seen the ugly look he gave me when I 
claimed the ring.” 

“Have you got it?” 

“No, they would not let me have it till I could 
prove my claim. We’ll let Mary tell them in the 
morning.” 

The train must have remained stationary for a 
long time — long enough for a wrecking crew and a 
new engine to arrive and start us going again. But 


8 


Mary in California 

we were all peacefully sleeping by that time. When 
the car finally awoke the next morning we were two 
hours late, and traveling along the high plateaus of 
Arizona. Distant mountains rimmed the horizon 
and great white clouds rose like snow peaks in the 
clear blue sky. 

Trix and I were later than the others. For some 
time before I fully awoke I could hear as in a dream 
a steady stream of words, which gradually formed 
itself into a narrative in Mary’s voice. 

“It was when we were in New Mexico, last sum- 
mer. We were digging in an Indian mound and I 
found an Indian ring with queer figures on it — sort 
of Chinese, you know. The Indians didn’t want me 
to have it. They stole it twice, I think, and stole 
me, too. Finally we sent it home by registered mail, 
but we never heard of it again. We found the box 
that we had sent it in, though, broken open in a cave 
where some loot from a train robbery had been 
taken. And it was the same man who held up the 
train last night I El Lobo, they called him in Santa 
Fe. He must have taken my ring from the mail in 
the other train and have kept it all this time. Dad 
says he was wearing it around his neck last night, the 
ring — my ring, strung on a long silk cord. Isn’t it 
wonderful to think I’ll get it back? The Indians 
have all sorts of legends connected with it. And a 
man who knows all about such things says it has 
Chinese characters on it. It is supposed to be un- 
lucky to wear it — for a white person, you know.” 

I stuck my head out from between the curtains and 
saw that Mary was sitting with a gentleman and lady 


A Holdup — We Meet El Lobo Again 9 

in one of the double seats which had been put in 
daytime form by the porter. It was after nine 
o’clock. 

“Well, Mother, are you awake at last?” called 
Mary, and ran over to kiss me good morning. 
“Father and Dave and I had breakfast a long time 
ago. And, oh, Mother, did Dad tell you about find- 
ing my ring again, and El Lobo ?” 

Then whispering in my ear, she went on : “I have 
been talking to the nicest people ! They live in Los 
Angeles, and hope we’ll come to visit them. They 
haven’t any children, but love them. He was in 
France in the war doing Y. M. C. A. work. He’s 
just coming home from Germany, and she went over 
to meet him. Their name is Norton.” 

“Wait till I am dressed to introduce me,” I broke 
in laughingly. Trix was clamoring for help behind 
me, and insisted on my buttoning her up at once. 

“You had better hurry or there won’t be any 
breakfast, Mother,” Mary said as she went back to 
her friends. 

Fortunately we found plenty of food in the dining 
car, also David and the Doctor, who were still eating 
griddle cakes and discussing the adventure of the 
night before. El Lobo, the captured train robber, 
had been quite badly hurt, and the Doctor had been 
called upon earlier in the morning to attend him. 

“There is no doubt but that it is our old friend 
of Santa Fe. He was part Chinese, you remember, 
which added to his Mexican-Indian ancestry gives 
him a very oriental look. There is equally no doubt 
that he had around his neck a peculiar Chinese cord 


10 


Mary in California 

which carried Mary’s Indian ring. I think we can 
get it back. But seriously, my dear, I wonder if it 
would not be better to leave it with El Lobo. It 
sounds absurd and like a dime novel, I know. But 
we had trouble enough with the thing in New Mexico 
last summer. Perhaps El Lobo has as much right 
to it as we have.” 

“Why, Dad,” exclaimed Dave, “Mary found it 
in the Indian mound. Of course it’s hers ! And you 
wouldn’t let an old train robber get it away from us. 
You ought to be ashamed of being such a scare-cat.” 

“Mary will want it back,” observed Trixy, from 
the bottom of a bowl of cereal. 

Trix was right. There was no doubt that Mary 
wanted it back. So the Doctor put in a claim de- 
scribing the ring, and how it had been lost from the 
registered mail six months ago, in New Mexico. 
Mary went with her father to identify the ring, and 
returned feeling a little uncomfortable. 

“Mother, I can’t imagine why I thought him hand- 
some, when we saw him in Santa Fe. He is dreadful 
looking. They took the ring off him, but if he hadn’t 
been so badly hurt I don’t believe they could have. 
He didn’t want to give it up a bit, you could see 
that.” 

“I think we had better let him have it,” I ob- 
served, looking at my fourteen-year-old daughter 
with a feeling of discomfort and almost of fore- 
boding. The ring had cost her enough danger before. 
Why should she be mixed up in some old oriental 
superstition? 

But the matter was taken out of our hands, in a 


A Holdup — We Meet El Lobo Again n 

way. For while we were flying over the plains and 
approaching Williams, the bandit suffered a severe 
hemorrhage and was removed from the train. 
So the ring was given us by the conductor, together 
with the cord of red and black silk which had held it. 

We were late in arriving in the little town of 
Williams, and the train for the Grand Canon, 
whither we were bound, was made up and ready to 
go. Mr. and Mrs. Norton, to whom Mary had 
introduced us, were also planning to leave the 
through train and go to the canon. We hurried off 
with our bags, leaving our trunks to go on without 
us. We had only time to snatch some sandwiches 
and fruit and get on the branch train, when we were 
off, full of anticipation and excitement. 


CHAPTER II 


FIRST SIGHT OF THE GRAND CANON — A NEW INDIAN 
FRIEND 

TXT’E sat on the steps of the back platform of the 
* * rear car and got our first glimpse of the real 
cattle country. The great rolling plain stretched 
away for miles, dotted here and there with thickets, 
and with low mountains in the distance. 

Here we saw the first prairie dogs of the trip. 
They ran in and out of the brush or sat on their 
sandy mound houses, with forepaws folded over 
their fat stomachs. Herds of red cattle, with pleas- 
ant white faces, grazed about and watched the train 
with quiet curiosity as we passed. 

Once when the train stopped, Dave called our at- 
tention to a heap of skeletons and bones near the 
track. 

“What are they, Daddy?” he asked. 

“I am afraid it is all that is left of a bunch of 
cattle that probably died of starvation and cold last 
winter.” 

“But, Daddy, how terrible. Couldn’t anything be 
done for them?” 

“I think so, and Uncle Sam thinks so,” was the 
answer. “On the government ranges there are shel- 
ters and the herds are fed and watched during the 
12 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 13 

winter storms. But a great many ranch owners do 
not seem to care, or fail to realize how much the 
poor creatures must suffer before they are finally re- 
duced to the heap of bones you see here. These 
men claim that it would cost too much to care for 
the stock. They prefer to lose a number each year. 
But even if it were not so cruel, it would be poor 
policy. For the poor survivors are in bad shape to 
send to market and the cows are often too weak to 
have healthy calves, so that the herds do not in- 
crease normally.” 

“I can’t bear to think of the poor things wander- 
ing around in the snow,” said Mary. “Do you re- 
member that dreadful picture of the sheep all 
huddled together, lost in a blizzard? I always have 
hated to look at it. I suppose cattle would be just 
the same. Can’t the ranchers be forced to do some- 
thing?” 

“I think conditions are improving. Humane so- 
cieties have taken up the cause, and the government 
ranges are an object lesson. Of course some cattle 
will stray away and be lost. That cannot be helped. 
It must have been the same in their wild state before 
men assumed responsibility for their care. The ship- 
ping of cattle, too, is being looked after more than 
ever before. In old days the cattle cars that took 
the creatures east to be slaughtered were so crowded 
that many of the animals were trampled and died on 
the way. They were often left for days without 
food or water. But now laws have been passed for 
the protection of animals. Of course thoughtless 
and inhuman shippers break the law. If they are 


14 Mary in California 

caught they can be punished, but it takes constant 
watching.” 

“Sometimes I feel like never eating any meat 
again,” said Mary slowly. 

“I think we all do when we stop to think,” I 
remarked. 

“Would you like to be a Buddhist, Mary?” asked 
her father. “They believe that they must not take 
the life of any living thing.” 

“Not even flies and mosquitoes and ants and 
spiders?” Dave demanded. 

“No orthodox Buddhist will kill anything,” re- 
plied the Doctor. 

“Not even if they bit him?” said Trix. 

“My physiology book says insects are more dan- 
gerous and kill more people than battles,” remarked 
Dave. 

“I wouldn’t like to be a Buddhist to that extent, 
Dad,” laughed Mary. 

“Let’s go in,” suggested the Doctor. “It’s a 
case of ashes to ashes, dust to dust; If the smoke 
doesn’t get me, the cinders must.” 

“I feel as black as the ace of spades,” I responded. 

We went into the car and found Mr. and Mrs. 
Norton. They, like ourselves, were to visit the 
Grand Canon for the first time. 

“I understand that there is nothing like it any- 
where else in the world,” said Mr. Norton. “Most 
mountains you look up to, but here you look down 
on the tops of them. You plan to go down into the 
canon, do you not?” 

“Surely,” we replied in chorus. 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 1 5 

“Did you bring any riding togs?” asked Mrs. 
Norton. “I understand no one is allowed to go 
down into the canon in skirts. The mules have a 
special dislike for skirts ever since a very fat woman 
rode down in them. Her donkey, looking around in- 
quiringly on feeling the heavy weight, mistook her 
billowy skirt for something strange and dangerous. 
He shied, with terrible consequences.” 

“What happened?” demanded Dave breathlessly. 

“Well, I don’t know that anything happened, but 
the story is that the lady went over the bank. A 
strong wind happened to be blowing and it filled her 
skirt like a balloon. So when the scared mule 
reached the end of the trail at breakneck speed, he 
found the lady sitting at the bottom, breathless and 
red in the face, but quite unhurt by her marvelous 
descent. The mule seemed to think that dangerous 
medicine, as our Indian friends would say, was some- 
how mixed up in that skirt and lady. He turned 
about and went back over the trail alone. Since then, 
the rule is, no skirts in the canon.” 

“But what happened to the fat lady?” asked Trix, 
wide-eyed with amazement, “and is it true?” 

“Well, I haven’t heard that she is to be seen at 
the bottom, nor does her ghost haunt the river, so I 
suppose she must somehow have gotten back to the 
top. But I never heard that part of the story.” 

“What is the fashion in clothes?” asked the Doc- 
tor, laughing. 

“I have heard that it is blue denim divided skirts 
and farmers’ hats, becoming to the young and slim,” 
answered Mr. Norton. 


1 6 Mary in California 

There were some audible sighs from those of us 
who were not slim. 

“I wish I had brought my riding trousers,” said 
Mary sadly. “I hate the thought of denim things/’ 

Not long after this the train rolled into the canon 
station. We drove up a short, steep slope in a big 
bus to the attractive low wooden hotel. 

“Oh, Mother,” said Trix, “there’s a house like 
the pueblo at Taos; look quick.” 

“Why quick?” asked Dave. “It won’t run 
away.” 

I looked in the direction toward which Trix 
pointed. Sure enough, an Indian house, of the 
pueblo type, stood within sight of the hotel. It was 
built of stone, and had several stories. 

“I want to go there,” said Trix. 

“Later, manana,” said the Doctor. 

We wandered through the big hotel living rooms, 
built attractively of dark wood. While the Doctor 
was negotiating for accommodations we went into 
a side parlor, where Mary discovered some paintings, 
of great cliffs and vast abysses, of strange colors and 
forms, a mixture of Egyptian temple and rocky 
mountains. 

“Mother, they are wonderful, but what are they, 
and could anything be like that? Could there be 
mountains with all those colors?” 

“It doesn’t seem possible, but we’ll wait and see,” 
I answered. 

Presently the Doctor hailed us. “Let’s have our 
first view of the canon now,” he called. “Then 
we’ll have a quick wash and a quick supper and go 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 17 

to Sentinel Place for the sunset. I am told it is well 
worth doing.” 

“I want to see the Indian house,” remarked Trix. 

“You shall see it afterward,” said her father. 

It was only a short walk from the hotel and tour- 
ists, and commonplace things. Then we stood look- 
ing breathlessly over the stone parapet into the 
great canon. 

“There is nothing else like it on earth” — the 
words seemed to ring in my head. 

“I am not sure whether it’s heaven or the other 
place,” I heard the Doctor say, half under his breath. 

“Mother, it is like the pictures in the hotel,” ex- 
claimed Mary. “Those great things down there are 
like Egyptian figures and pyramids — it is partly the 
colors. I never saw anything like it.” 

“No, I don’t suppose any of us have,” I answered. 

“How far across is it? What made it?” asked 
Dave. 

“The Colorado River is responsible, under God,” 
replied the Doctor gravely. 

“Mother, I’m scared,” whispered Trix, and hid 
her head against me. “Can’t I go to the Indian 
house?” she asked in a very small voice. 

“I’ll go with her,” said Dave. 

“I’m almost afraid to trust you two alone here,” I 
said. “It’s absurd, I know, but Trix is so small and 
the canon so huge.” 

“My, ain’t nature grand,” observed Dave. 

“Oh, run along and keep away from the edge,” 
said the Doctor. “I’ll come for you shortly. We 
ought to get back to supper.” 


1 8 Mary in California 

I watched them run off together and then turned 
back to the canon lying below us, so immovable, 
brilliant. 

“How deep is it, Daddy?” asked Mary. 

“Seven miles by trail and eight miles across. We 
don’t see the river at the bottom from here, they 
tell me. Just look across at the flat plain on the 
other side. Think of the feelings the first Indian 
must have had who galloped across the plain and 
came suddenly to the edge.” 

“I bet he prayed to the Great Spirit ! I hope it 
wasn’t at night,” responded Mary cheerfully. 

“Well, I suppose we’d better go back to the 
hotel,” said the Doctor. “We can go by way of the 
Hopi Indian house and pick up the children. I de- 
clare,” he added, “I don’t see Trix riding down the 
trail to-morrow. What shall we do with her?” 

We went into the Indian house, which was much 
more beautiful inside than the pueblo in New 
Mexico had been. Skins hung on the walls, and 
finely woven rugs and pottery were placed about to 
be looked at and, if possible, sold. Trix and Dave 
were talking with a fine-looking Indian in native 
costume. 

Trix ran to us immediately. “Come and talk to 
him. He’s awfully nice,” she whispered quite 
audibly. 

“Does he talk English?” we asked. 

“Yes, indeed. Do come, Mother. He has a boy 
just my age. Can I go and see him? He wants me 
to.” 

We joined Dave and his new friend. 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 19 

“I hope the children have not bothered you,” I 
began. 

“No, indeed,” was the quiet answer. “They are 
good children. The little girl is coming to see my 
boy, if you will allow it.” 

“Are you a Carlisle graduate?” asked the Doctor. 

“No, but I am a college graduate. A real Indian, 
too,” he added in response to a disappointed grunt 
from Dave. 

“Would you like to know my Indian name?” 

“Please tell us,” cried Trix. 

“It is Oh-we-tahuh — they call me that because I 
have made little paintings. It means picture writing. 
Before I went to college they called me Mo-wa-the, 
which means flash of light, because I was a quick 
runner.” 

“It is a pretty name — Mo-wa-the. We’ll have to 
call Dave that,” I said. 

“Now, Mother,” said Dave. While the Indian 
asked : 

“Is he a good runner?” 

“Aw, nothing much,” answered Dave quickly. 

“How do you happen to be here in Indian dress?” 
asked Mary. 

“I came back to live with my people; and be- 
cause I could not live away from the canon. But I 
do not always wear the dress. My boy wears an 
Indian suit made by Montgomery Sears,” he added, 
looking at me with twinkling eyes. 

“What a pity,” I murmured. 

“Are you going down into the canon to-morrow?” 
asked our new friend. 


20 


Mary in California 

“Sure,” was Dave’s quick reply. 

“I am not sure about the little one,” observed 
the Doctor. 

“She can stay with my wife and boy, if you will 
allow it,” said the Indian. “We live not far from 
here in a log cabin. Wouldn’t you like to?” he 
added, turning to Trix. “They will tell you stories 
of the Hopis. And my boy, Tom, will make you a 
bow and arrows.” 

“Mother, Dad, may I?” begged Trix. 

“Don’t you want to ride down into the canon?” 
I asked. 

“I’d rather play with the boy. Has he been down 
in the canon?” 

“Yes,” answered the Indian. “But he is a boy, 
and has always lived here. It is a hard trip for a 
little white girl.” 

“Suppose we think it over,” suggested the Doctor. 
“We ought to go and eat supper now. It is very kind 
of you to offer. I will come in this evening, if I may, 
and discuss it. Will you be here?” 

“Yes, I tell the people who come to see the dance 
about some of the customs of our people. I will be 
here.” 

We thanked him, and went over to the hotel. 

Dinner in the big dining room was very welcome, 
as every one was hungry. Trixy could not read most 
of the menu, but finally found ice cream and was 
sure she wanted that for supper. 

“Can’t I have just that?” she pleaded. “I want 
to go back to the Indian house.” 

“It’s almost bedtime now, Trix,” said her father. 


21 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 

“You will have so many things to see to-morrow that 
you will have to turn in early. Come, eat your toast 
and milk, like a good girl, and then you can have 
the ice cream.” 

We met Mr. and Mrs. Norton in the living room 
after supper. 

“Can’t Trix stay with me till her bedtime?” she 
asked. “I am not going out again to-night. Chil- 
dren Trix’s age do not as a rule care for scenery.” 

“Let me stay too, Mother,” said Dave. “I’ll 
look after Trix, and take her up to bed at the right 
time, too.” 

“Well, all right, you can stay. Mrs. Norton, you 
certainly are more than kind. I am afraid you don’t 
know how much you have undertaken. Will you re- 
mind them at half past seven, and Trix, will you go 
up with Dave just as soon as Mrs. Norton tells 
you?” 

“I want to go to the Indian house and see the 
boy,” responded Trix. 

“Be a good girl to-night and you can go to-morrow 
to see the Indians.” 

“Of course she’ll be good with me, won’t you, 
Trixy?” asked Dave. 

“She’ll be good after you’re gone,” suggested Mrs. 
Norton. 

So Mary, the Doctor, and I hastened away. 

The sun was very near the horizon as we went 
along the road, past the cottages at the head of 
the trail that we were to take the next day, and 
entered the grove of high trees that cover Sentinel 
Point. 


22 


Mary in California 

“It’s a race with the sun, Mother,” laughed Mary, 
and she ran ahead at a dogtrot. 

It was all so silent and mysterious as the shadows 
of the evening gathered. We reached the great 
stone monument, just as the sun disappeared. 

“I feel as though I were a princess in a fairy tale, 
and that something terrible would happen if I didn’t 
get here on time,” puffed Mary. “Maybe I’ll turn 
into a swan or something. But, Mother, just look 
down.” 

From the stone base of the monument we could 
look into what seemed a bottomless chasm, full of 
purple and blue shadows, with here and there a glint 
of bright red or yellow as the last rays of the sun 
fell on some rocky pinnacle. 

“Domes, minarets, and towers — it is an Indian 
city or an Egyptian temple, made for some of the 
gods of the heathen,” said the Doctor. 

We sat for a while at the edge of the canon. As 
the shadows deepened it seemed almost as if we 
would be drawn down into the dark mystery below. 
The pine trees at our feet stuck out over endless 
depths. The soft colors of the rocks turned into 
dark reds and blues and purples in the gathering 
gloom. 

“It can never be more wonderful than it is now. 
I am almost regretting going down to-morrow. It 
seems as though it would give us too much famili- 
arity with this great marvel,” I said. 

“I hadn’t any idea that it would be like this,” 
said Mary. “I can’t quite believe it.” 

It was almost dark before we rose and left the 


23 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 

monument which would have seemed massive any- 
where, and even here was impressive in its simplicity. 

“Father, who was Major Powell, that the monu- 
ment is to?” asked Mary, as we started back. 

“He was the first white man and probably the first 
man of any color to explore the Colorado River 
through the canons. I saw his journal somewhere 
in the hotel. I think it would be a mighty good 
thing to look at before we leave here. The Indians 
warned him that it was an impossible trip, that the 
river ran underground in some places and that all 
sorts of waterfalls and rapids would block their way. 
It is a thrilling story. They certainly found plenty 
of adventures.” 

“Can we go to the Hopi house and see the dance ?” 
asked Mary, as we approached the hotel. 

“You go ahead and we’ll follow. I think we 
ought to stop and see how Dave and Trix have 
fared,” I answered. 

So Mary hurried on and we sought the hotel and 
our rooms. Much to our surprise, these proved to 
be empty. Not a trace could be found of either of 
the children, the beds had not been touched, and the 
floor was not covered with the usual odds and ends 
of Trix’s garments; a sure sign that these must still 
be on her small person somewhere else. 

“Where can they be? Surely nothing can have 
happened to them,” I said. 

“I fancy we shall find them at the Hopi house,” 
said the Doctor. “If you remember, that was the 
last thing Trix was saying as we left. She wanted to 
go to the Indians.” 


24 


Mary in California 

“We would better go right over and see,” I re- 
plied. And over we went as fast as we could. 

There was quite a crowd of people in the two big 
rooms, and in the center were three Indians, doing 
a corn-husking dance, while our friend of the fore- 
noon sang the corn song. We saw Mary at once, 
but it was only after a careful search that we dis- 
covered Trix and Dave, with a small Indian boy, 
concealed behind a little crowd of onlookers. 

The Doctor routed them out. “Dave, what do 
you mean?” he asked. “Didn’t you know you were 
to get Trix to bed? How came you here?” 

“I couldn’t do anything with her,” answered 
Dave. “She ran away and I thought you would 
rather have me come with her. I knew she ought not 
to come.” 

“Both of you go right back to bed,” said the Doc- 
tor sternly. 

“But, Dad, it isn’t my bedtime — ” 

“Can’t we see the end of the dance?” added Trix. 

“No. You must both go home. I see you are 
neither of you to be trusted.” 

“I will go home with them,” I remarked. 

“We had better interview our Indian friend. Trix 
must not go down into the canon. She is not old 
enough. I am not sure that Dave is.” 

“We’ll see how he behaves from now till to- 
morrow,” added the Doctor. 

So I convoyed my two erring young ones to the 
hotel and this time saw them safely tucked in. Dave 
seemed a little subdued at the possibility of losing 
the ride on the morrow. But Trix could not remain 


25 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 

depressed for long. She began by giving a lively 
imitation of the Indian dance, singing a weird tune 
of her own which closely resembled the corn-grinding 
song as far as I could tell. This she did in the 
costume which is common to all primitive people, 
before they have learned from somewhere that one 
must wear clothes in public. 

I could not keep from laughing, and Trix shrieked 
with delight and started to run into the hall. But 
I quickly put a stop to this, and presently I left her 
still chanting strange words in the darkness from the 
safety of her bed. 

Mary and the Doctor came back in great excite- 
ment from the Hopi house. 

“It wasn’t so much the dance, but our Indian, he 
was simply great, Mother. He was dressed in the 
most beautiful blankets. And after the song, he 
told us about his people. He was wonderful. And 
he is going to take Trix to-morrow and he has a 
darling little boy.” 

“Could you tell your mother what he said?” asked 
her father. 

“Oh, I don’t know — not as he told it. He has 
such a beautiful voice. He told us how for days 
before a wedding the bride has to grind corn on a 
stone. She sits behind a blanket and sings the grind- 
ing song and makes prayers. And then when the 
wedding day comes, they don’t have a priest or any- 
thing, but the bride and groom sit quietly among 
their relations. And then he puts a cloak over her 
shoulders and serves her out of a dish, and they both 
eat out of the same dish and drink out of the same 


26 


Mary in California 

cup. It means that they will always share things 
and that he will care for her. The man has to work, 
too, before the wedding. He has to work in her 
father’s fields or in some way prove his friendship 
and love. 

“He told us about the old sign of his people which 
was like a cross and meant the Father Sun and 
Mother Moon and the Morning Star. Morning 
Star is the son of Mother Moon. He is in the sky 
when she goes away, and he calls Father Sun to come 
and smile on the Earth for people. It sounds almost 
like Christians, doesn’t it, Mother? He told us 
another legend. 

“ ‘The thing I tell is the true thing!’ he said. 

“ ‘It was time for a god to walk on the earth, and 
one was born of the pinon tree and a virgin who 
rested under the shadow of its arms. The girl was 
very poor, and her people were very poor; when the 
pinon nut fell in her bosom, and the winds told her 
a son was sent to her to rest beneath her heart, she 
was very sad, for there was no food. 

“ ‘But wonderful things happened. The spirits 
of the mountain brought to her home new and 
strange food, and seeds to plant for harvest: — new 
seeds of the melon, and big seed of the corn : — before 
that time the seeds of the corn were little seeds. 
When the child was born, strange things happened, 
and the eagles flew high above till the sky was alive 
with wings. The boy was very poor, and so much 
a boy of dreams that he was the one to be laughed 
at for the visions. But great wise thoughts grew 
out of his mountain dreams, and he was so great a 
wizard that the old men chose him for Po-Ahtun-ho, 
which means Ruler of Things from the Beginning. 
And the dreamer who had been born of the maid 


First Sight of the Grand Canon 27 

and the pinon tree was the Ruler. He governed 
even the boiling water from the heart of the hills, 
and taught the people that the sickness was washed 
away by it. His wisdom was beyond.earth wisdom, 
and his visions were true. The land of that people 
became a great land, and they had many blue stones 
and shells. It then was that they became proud. 
One day the god came as a stranger to their village — 
a poor stranger, and they were not kind to him ! The 
proud hearts had grown to be hard hearts, and 
only fine strangers would they talk with. He went 
away from that people then. He said hard words 
to them and went away. He went to the South to 
live in a great home in the sea. When he comes 
back they do not know, but some day he comes 
back, — or some night ! He said he would come back 
to the land when the stars mark the time when they 
repent, and one night in seven the fire is lit on the 
hills by the villages, that the earth-born god, Po-se- 
yemo, may see it if he should come, and may see that 
his people are faithful and are waiting for him to 
come. 

“ ‘Because of the day when the god came, and 
they turned him away for that his robe was poor, 
and his feet were bare; — because of that day, no 
poor person is turned hungry from the door of that 
people. And the old men say this is because the god 
may come any day from the South, and may come 
again as a poor man.’ ” 

“It seems as though somehow those Indians must 
have heard about Christ, doesn’t it? Perhaps some 
missionaries we don’t know about told them.” 

“I don’t think so, Mary,” answered the Doctor. 
“But most religions have things in common. And 
the early fathers of the Christian Church borrowed 
a lot of things from other beliefs.” 


28 Mary in California 

“Somehow I don’t like that. It makes it seem 
less true — ” 

“What less true ? You mean Christianity ? Why, 
Mary, don’t you see, it makes it all the truer. If 
God has sent the same message to all people, why, 
we surely must believe.” 

“That Indian must be pretty fine. I wish I could 
have heard him. But I like to hear it from you, too, 
Mary,” I said. “You think he will be perfectly 
trustworthy, and that Trix will be all right? What 
did he say about that?” 

“He said his little boy would come for Trix about 
seven-thirty — we make an early start. He will have 
her here by the ,time we get back. He promises to 
take good care of her and give her a little walk down 
the trail. They tell me at the hotel that he is a 
remarkably fine man and absolutely to be trusted. 
Also the cow puncher who is to escort us to-morrow 
does not encourage the going down of youngsters. 
So I guess this is the only solution.” 

“Where did you say that Powell book is?” asked 
Mary. 

“It’s too late to-night,” said her father. “Go to 
bed now and we’ll take Major Powell down to the 
bottom of the canon and read him while we are 
resting. Good night, everybody.” 

“Oh, Mother, must I? I am not a bit sleepy or 
tired.” 

“Good night, everybody,” was the only answer. 


CHAPTER III 


ON DONKEY BACK TO THE BOTTOM OF THE CANON 

^\H, Mother, Mother, I never did see anything 
so funny. Oh, I am so glad I can wear my gym 
bloomers. You must look at yourself. Where’s 
Dad and Dave?” Thus Mary exclaimed on seeing 
me dressed in the safe and comfortable clothes which 
the hotel provided for the canon trip. If only they 
could have been becoming, too ! But a large blue 
denim divided skirt and a big straw hat were not 
the things I would have chosen to wear. I envied 
Mary her trim brown bloomers and Dave and his 
father their trousers and gaiters. 

“Laugh all you like,” I remarked. “It is better 
to make people laugh than cry. Come on — we might 
as well get started.” 

“Mother’s in a hurry to show off her beautiful 
riding clothes,” laughed Mary. 

“Mother’s all right,” said Dave stoutly. “She’s 
just as pretty as she can be.” 

So with this to comfort me we went out. I was 
glad to find two other ladies dressed as I was. Mrs. 
Norton, however, had come fully prepared, and 
wore a riding suit of corduroy. 

We all went over to the paddock, where were 
assembled the most wicked looking lot of mules 
that I have ever seen together. 

A cow puncher, dressed as a cow puncher should, 
29 


30 Mary in California 

with woolly chaps, brown shirt, red kerchief, and al 
Stetson hat, awaited us. He looked us over, asked 
us whether we were accustomed to riding, and then 
selected our mounts. There was one large, dark 
brown creature with one ear up and one down, whose 
eye had a particularly bad expression. I watched 
the cow puncher lead him toward me and wished 
that I was not so heavy and could have had a small, 
gentle-looking bay mule. But it was not to be. The 
Doctor and our guide came to my assistance, and 
before I knew it, I was hoisted up into the saddle 
of the largest animal. I felt as though I were on 
top of an elephant. 

Then we started. First came the cow puncher, 
then Mary, then Mrs. Norton, then I, and the 
others trailed behind. Mr. Norton and Dave 
brought up the rear. The mules were inclined to be 
a little frisky at the start, and playfully kicked their 
back legs and bit each other. But the guide, Frank- 
lin, assured us that they would behave on the trail. 
I hoped he was right. 

As we rode slowly toward the cabins at the head 
of the trail, two small children jumped out of the 
bushes with a war whoop, which sent our mules into 
hysterics. It was Trix and her young Indian friend. 

“Oh, Mother, can’t I come too? I’d love to ride 
on one of those donkeys. Are they donkeys, 
Mother, or mules? Can’t I come?” 

“Don’t speak to Mother. She can’t talk and ride 
too,” called out Mary. 

“Good-by, Trix, be ready to take care of us when 
we come back,” said the Doctor. 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 31 

The children waved good-by, and then I forgot 
them and everything as we turned into the trail. 

“Do you remember going down into the Rio 
Grande Canon?” asked Mary. 

“I wish I were there now,” I murmured. 

“Well, I wouldn’t do this again for a million 
dollars,” said Mrs. Norton. “And they say it’s 
much worse farther down.” 

We seemed to be slowly descending the side of a 
house on a path just wide enough for one mule at a 
time and with no parapet, not even a stone, on the 
side toward the abyss — one false step ! 

“Don’t be skeered,” observed Franklin. “Those 
mules don’t wanter commit suicide. They’ll stay 
on the path. Just leave ’em alone. Don’t try to 
guide ’em. They know how to go better’n you do. 
They’ve been down oftener.” 

“Thank Heaven I am not a mule,” observed some 
one. 

“Why, Mother, you’re not scared, are you?” 
asked Mary. 

“Scared? I never was so scared in my life. All I 
can do is to shut my eyes and hold on to the pommel 
of my saddle.” 

“Same here,” said Mrs. Norton cheerfully. 

Down, down went the mules, and down went we. 
After a while I trusted myself to look around. Far 
below us wound the trail like a thread. We could 
not see the river yet. All around us were the wild 
cliffs and mesa-shaped mountains of the canon with 
their gay colors. There were few trees, and only 
patches of shrubbery. 


32 


Mary in California 

We saw some wild burros, or donkeys, climbing 
up some of the steepest looking precipices. They 
watched us curiously and then scampered off. Their 
color was so much like the gray of the cliffs that it 
was hard to see them. 

Presently Franklin called a halt. The mules’ 
heads were turned toward the chasm and they stood 
across the trail. The Doctor walked forward, hav- 
ing persuaded Mr. Norton to guard his mule, and 
joined us. 

“How do you like it?” he asked. “Getting on all 
right?” 

“Mother’s ‘frightened out of her wicks,’ as Trix 
used to say,” observed Mary. “I think it’s great. 
I say — Whoa, where do you think you are going?” 
she added, as her mule, tempted by a bit of shrub- 
bery that hung over the edge, started after it. 

“Aw, he’s all right,” said the cow puncher. “He 
don’t want to tumble and kill himself. He just 
wants a leaf or two for his breakfast. Hi, get back, 
you sinner,” he addressed the mule. “Hi, Jack you 
fiend, get back where you belong. Pull him back,” — 
this to Mary. 

“Pull him back! He’s got a mouth like iron. I 
can’t budge him. Oh, let him eat.” 

Presently Franklin kicked his mule and started 
down the trail again. 

“I don’t know why I stay on this beast and don’t 
roll off. I feel myself swaying from side to side,” 
observed Mrs. Norton. 

“My mule is wider than the span of a bridge. 



THE MULES HEADS WERE TURNED TOWARD THE CHASM 
(Photo from Kolb Brothers) 



See p. 154 


THE PAGEANT AT MILLS COLLEGE 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 33 

My legs seem to stick out straight in the air,” I 
replied. 

“Well, we can live till we reach the first level rest- 
ing space, anyway,” said Mrs. Norton. “We can 
stay there if we want to.” 

“Do you want to?” asked Mary. 

“I wouldn’t think of it,” was the chorus. 
“Imagine going halfway down and then stopping.” 

Presently we came to a grassy level place, with 
some ruined shacks on it. Here every one dis- 
mounted, some gracefully and some with consider- 
able help from Franklin. Those who were accus- 
tomed to riding walked about, but Mrs. Norton and 
I stretched out on the ground. 

“Will you ever be able to get up again?” mur- 
mured Mrs. Norton. 

“I would prefer a feather bed,” I replied. 

Presently the party started again. And now the 
canon grew wilder and more wonderful. Looking 
upward, the great cliffs towered above us, immeas- 
urably high, while the depths below seemed just as 
overpowering. 

“I simply won’t ride down that next bend,” said 
Mrs. Norton firmly. “It’s impossibly steep and 
there’s no safe side. The trail is like a bridge.” 

“Oh, Mother,” called Mary, “Mr. Franklin says 
this is the Devil’s Corkscrew, and we’ve all got to 
get off.” 

“You see, I was right,” observed Mrs. Norton. 
“It couldn’t be done.” 

“Mr. Franklin says to hang on to your mules. If 


34 Mary in California 

you let go they are likely to go home alone,” said 
Mary. 

“Bad ’cess to them, I wish they would,” mur- 
mured Mrs. Norton. 

“But you wouldn’t want to walk up all the way, 
would you?” asked Mary. “I asked Mr. Franklin 
about the fat woman in skirts who blew down, Mrs. 
Norton. He said he never heard of her. But he 
said there was a man who tried to make his mule 
take a short cut. It was like a tug of war ’cause the 
mule wouldn’t budge. Finally the bridle broke 
and the man tumbled down the cliff and broke his 
arm. Mr. Franklin says the mules have lots of 
sense.” 

We passed a stream near the bottom, and then the 
trail broke through a barrier of rocks and there was 
the Colorado River, brown and turbulent, and flow- 
ing with a mighty current between sandy shores and 
high crags. 

“And to think that is what made it all,” said Mr. 
Norton, who had joined us. 

“A thousand years here are truly but as yesterday. 
A river is a wonderful thing, Mary. No nation, 
however great, could have made this canon, and yet 
that muddy stream did it all.” 

“Could one swim across?” asked Mary. “It’s not 
very wide — ” 

“Do you remember trying to swim in the Rio 
Grande?” remarked the Doctor. 

“Well, I guess I do. We just hung on to the 
rocks for dear life.” 

“This has a much stronger current. Come, let’s 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 35 

sit down and while we eat our lunch, let me read you 
a bit from Major Powell’s adventures.” 

“Can’t we explore a little first?” asked Dave. 

“No, we’ll read and rest and eat and then ex- 
plore,” was the answer as his father took a small 
volume from his pocket. 

“Major Powell,” he began, “started with nine 
men and four boats and went a thousand miles 
through the canons. Here are some of the dangers 
he encountered as he tells them in his own journal. 

“ ‘On this beach we camp for the night. We find 
a few sticks, which have lodged in the rocks. It is 
raining hard, and we have no shelter, but kindle a 
fire and have our supper. We sit on the rocks all 
night, wrapped in our ponchos, getting what sleep 
we can. 

“ ‘August 15. This morning we find we can let 
down for three or four hundred yards, and it is 
managed in this way: We pass along the wall, by 
climbing from projecting point to point, sometimes 
near the water’s edge, at other places fifty or sixty 
feet above, and hold the boat with a line, while two 
men remain aboard, and prevent her from being 
dashed against the rocks, and keep the line from 
getting caught on the wall. In two hours we have 
brought them all down, as far as it is possible, in this 
way. A few yards below, the river strikes with 
great violence against a projecting rock, and our 
boats are pulled up in a little bay above. We must 
now manage to pull out of this, and clear the point 
below. The little boat is held by the bow obliquely 
up the stream. We jump in, and pull out only a few 
strokes, and sweep clear of the dangerous rock. The 
other boats follow in the same manner, and the 
rapid is passed. 


36 Mary in California 

“ ‘It is not easy to describe the labor of such navi- 
gation. We must prevent the waves from dashing 
the boats against the cliffs. Sometimes, where the 
river is swift, we must put a bight of rope about a 
rock, to prevent her being snatched from us by a 
wave ; but where the plunge is too great, or the chute 
too swift, we must let her leap, and catch her below, 
or the undertow will drag her under the falling 
water, and she sinks. Where we wish to run her out 
a little way from shore, through a channel between 
rocks, we first throw in little sticks of driftwood, 
and watch their course, to see where we must steer, 
so that she will pass the channel in safety. And so 
we hold, and let go, and pull, and lift, and ward, 
among rocks, around rocks, and over rocks. 

“ ‘And now we go on through this solemn, mys- 
terious way. The river is very deep, the canon very 
narrow, and still obstructed, so that there is no 
steady flow of the stream; but the waters wheel, and 
roll, and boil, and we are scarcely able to determine 
where we can go. Now, the boat is carried to the 
right, perhaps close to the wall; again, she is shot 
into the stream, and perhaps is dragged over to the 
other side, where, caught in a whirlpool, she spins 
about. We can neither land nor run as we please. 
The boats are entirely unmanageable; no order in 
their running can be preserved; now one, now an- 
other, is ahead, each crew laboring for its own pres- 
ervation. In such a place we come to another rapid. 
Two of the boats run it perforce. One succeeds in 
landing, but there is no foothold by which to make 
a portage, and she is pushed out again into the 
stream. The next minute a great reflex wave fills 
the open compartment; she is water-logged, and 
drifts unmanageable. Breaker after breaker rolls 
over her, and one capsizes her. The men are 
thrown out; but they cling to the boat, and she 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 37 

drifts down some distance, alongside of us, and we 
are able to catch her. She is soon bailed out, and the 
men are aboard once more; but the oars are lost, so 
a pair from the Emma Dean is spared. Then for 
two miles we find smooth water. 

“ ‘Clouds are playing in the canon to-day. Some- 
times they roll down in great masses, filling the 
gorge with gloom; sometimes they hang above, from 
wall to wall, and cover the canon with a roof of im- 
pending storm; and we can peer long distances up 
and down this canon corridor, with its cloud-roof 
overhead, its walls of black granite, and its river 
bright with the sheen of broken waters. Then, a 
gust of wind sweeps down a side gulch, and, making 
a rift in the clouds, reveals the blue heavens, and 
a stream of sunlight pours in. Then, the clouds 
drift away into the distance and hang around crags, 
and peaks, and pinnacles, and towers, and walls, and 
cover them with a mantle that lifts from time to time 
and sets them all in sharp relief. Then, baby clouds 
creep out of side canons, glide around points, and 
creep back again, into more distant gorges. Then* 
clouds, set in strata, across the canon, with inter- 
vening vista views, to cliffs and rocks beyond. The 
clouds are children of the heavens, and when they 
play among the rocks, they lift them to the region 
above. 

“ ‘It rains! Rapidly little rills are formed above, 
and these soon grow into brooks, and the brooks 
grow into creeks, and tumble over the walls in in- 
numerable cascades, adding their wild music to the 
roar of the river. When the rain ceases, the rills, 
brooks, and creeks run dry. The waters that fall, 
during a rain, on these steep rocks, are gathered at 
once into the river; they could scarcely be poured in 
more suddenly, if some vast spout ran from the 
clouds to the stream itself. When a storm bursts 


38 Mary in California 

over the canon, a side gulch is dangerous, for a 
sudden flood may come, and the inpouring waters 
will raise the river, so as to hide the rocks before 
your eyes. 

“ ‘Early in the afternoon, we discover a stream 
entering from the north, a clear, beautiful creek, 
coming down through a gorgeous red canon. We 
land, and camp on a sand beach, above its mouth, 
under a great, overspreading tree, with willow- 
shaped leaves.’ 

“That gives you a pretty good idea of some of 
the things Powell had to contend with. He finally 
lost a boat and three of his party deserted. But he 
was not one to turn back.” 

“Why did he do it, Dad?” asked Dave. “I mean, 
what was the good of it?” 

“Well, if it were not for men like Powell, how 
do you suppose geographies could be made, and 
natural histories written and botanies composed? 
That is the practical use of it. But can’t you imagine 
how a man feels who has gone to places that no eye 
but his has seen and no other foot has trod? Do you 
know Kipling’s poem, ‘The Explorer’ ? 

“ ‘Till a voice, as bad as Conscience, rang interminable changes 
On one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated — so: 
“Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the 
Ranges — 

Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. 
Go!”’ 

“You know you loved to ride off alone in New 
Mexico last summer, Dave. You were always want- 
ing to explore.” 

“Oh, Dad, it must have been glorious to do what 
Powell did,” said Mary. 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 39 

“Did he find any bones and things?” asked Dave. 

“He found pueblo ruins and pottery. He tells 
about it in a short and amusing chapter.” 

We had finished our lunch by this time, and were 
glad to listen to a little more of Powell’s romance. 

“ ‘Late in the afternoon I return, and go up a 
little gulch, just above this creek, about two hun- 
dred yards from camp, and discover the ruins of 
two or three old houses, which were originally of 
stone, laid in mortar. Only the foundations are left, 
but irregular blocks, of which the houses were con- 
structed, lie scattered about. In one room I find an 
old mealing stone, deeply worn, as if it had been 
much used. A great deal of pottery is strewn 
around, and old trails, which in some places are 
deeply worn into the rocks, are seen. 

“ ‘It is ever a source of wonder to us why these 
ancient people sought such inaccessible places for 
their homes. They were, doubtless, an agricultural 
race, but there are no lands here, of any consider- 
able extent, that they could have cultivated. To the 
west of Oraiby, one of the towns in the “Province 
of Tusayan,” in Northern Arizona, the inhabitants 
have actually built little terraces along the face of 
the cliff, where a spring gushes out, and thus made 
their sites for gardens. It is possible that the an- 
cient inhabitants of this place made their agricultural 
lands in the same way. But why should they seek 
such spots ? Surely the country was not so crowded 
with population as to demand the utilization of so 
barren a region. The only solution of the problem 
suggested is this : We know that, for a cen- 

tury or two after the settlement of Mexico, 
many expeditions were sent into the country 
now comprised in Arizona and New Mexico, for 
the purpose of bringing the town-building people 


40 


Mary in California 

under the dominion of the Spanish government. 
Many of their villages were destroyed, and the 
inhabitants fled to regions at that time unknown; 
and there are traditions, among the people who 
inhabit the pueblos that still remain, that the 
canons were these unknown lands. Maybe these 
buildings were erected at that time; sure it is that 
they have a much more modern appearance than the 
ruins scattered over Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Ari- 
zona, and New Mexico. Those old Spanish con- 
querors had a monstrous greed for gold, and a won- 
derful lust for saving souls. Treasures they must 
have; if not on earth, why, then, in heaven; and 
when they failed to find heathen temples, bedecked 
with silver, they propitiated Heaven by seizing the 
heathen themselves. There is yet extant a copy of 
a record, made by a heathen artist, to express his 
conception of the demands of the conquerors. In 
one part of the picture we have a lake, and near by 
stands a priest pouring water on the head of a na- 
tive. On the other side, a poor Indian has a cord 
about his throat. Lines run from these two groups 
to a central figure, a man with beard, and full Span- 
ish panoply. The interpretation of the picture writ- 
ing is this: “Be baptized, as this saved heathen; 
or be hanged, as that damned heathen.” Doubtless, 
some of these people preferred a third alternative, 
and, rather than be baptized or hanged, they chose 
to be imprisoned within these canon walls.’ ” 

“Those poor Indians,” remarked Mary. “Do 
you remember that story, ‘The House of the Dawn,’ 
we read last winter, and how the Spaniards forced 
the Indians to work in the mines and beat them and 
made them slaves?” 

“That was a bully story,” said Dave. 

“It wasn’t only the Spaniards that treated the 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 41 

Indians badly. Only they had a gentler, finer type 
of people to deal with, and that made their cruelty 
more inexcusable. If it had been the Apaches now 
— but it is hard to forgive them their treatment of 
the Hopis and the Pueblos. Well, I suppose we 
must be going up soon. Certainly from here we 
w^ould never believe in the wonderful sights above 
us. This looks very much like our old friend the 
Rio Grande, only on a bigger scale.” 

Mary and Dave jumped up and ran to the river. 
The current was of great swiftness and the water a 
dirty gray-brown color. There was a sandy beach 
where we had been sitting, but great rocks stood up 
here and there, and farther downstream the cliffs 
came down to the water’s edge. It was a wild spot. 
Mary threw a stick into the water and watched it 
rapidly disappear. 

“My, I’d hate to be caught in that,” said Dave, 
tossing a stone in. “I bet it is swifter than the Rio 
Grande. I don’t see how that Powell bunch ever got 
down. But I would like to try it in a small aero- 
plane. I bet it could be done.” 

Franklin now approached and wanted to know if 
we were rested and ready for the up trip. “It’s 
about time we started,” he remarked. 

“Do you come from these parts?” asked the 
Doctor. 

“No, I came from Wyoming. I haven’t been here 
more’n a couple of years. But my wife, she likes it 
here. It was kinder lonesome out on the cattle lands, 
she thought. We see more folks here. It pays well, 
too, I ain’t kicking. It’s a matter of riding up and 


42 


Mary in California 

down instead of on the level, that’s all. And I 
kinder like these old mules. They have more sense 
than a horse.” 

“But you can’t well make friends of them as you 
can with a horse, can you?” asked Mary. “I know 
I never could love this old fiend as I did my horse in 
New Mexico, Jim Snort.” 

Franklin indulged in a hearty guffaw. “Make 
friends with a mule? Well, land sakes, no. But 
when you’re choosing your friends you don’t just 
aim to find something with sense, do you? The 
mule, he always looks out for number one, that’s 
where the sense comes in. But a horse, he’s folks. 
You can love a horse. I had a broncho back in 
Wyoming. He was a beaut and no mistake. He 
saved my life for me in a blizzard once. We were 
out on the plains trying to round up some lost cat- 
tle and the storm caught us. I lost my way, hadn’t 
any idea where we were. I just let Pinto have his 
way and walked beside him. When I got tired he’d 
wait for me, and once when I rolled over and wanted 
to sleep, he pushed me and nuzzled me and half 
pulled me up. He knew I mustn’t stay there, for 
it meant freezing to death. And he finally got me 
back to the ranch.” 

“Oh, how could you leave him in Wyoming?” 
said Mary. 

“He was shot by a fool who thought he was hunt- 
ing big game. Get ap, Tom, we’ll never get to the 
top,” and Franklin kicked his mule lustily in the 
ribs. 

I don’t know which was worse, going up or com- 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 43 

ing down. I never dared look back, but at least we 
knew that every step was bringing us nearer the end 
and the mules were tired and less inclined to be 
playful. 

“I am sure Trix never could have done it,” I said. 

“Don’t you believe it, Mother. She would have 
tried to gallop,” Mary answered. 

“You’re right, my dear,” observed Mrs. Norton. 
“Trix is capable of anything. Heigh-ho, I am glad 
I’ve done it, but I wouldn’t go again for a million.” 

“I wonder what she has been doing all day,” re- 
marked Mary. “That little Indian boy looked aw- 
fully jolly.” 

“I wish I’d stayed up,” said Dave. 

“Now, Dave, you don’t. It was wonderful, and 
aren’t the mules fun?” 

“I’d rather go down on an aeroplane. Say, 
wouldn’t that be great?” 

“I suppose you’d run it,” suggested Mary. 

“I bet I could learn how if some one taught me. 
Anyhow, just think of swooping down.” 

“I am afraid you wouldn’t swoop down more 
than once, Dave, my boy,” interrupted Mrs. Nor- 
ton. “It would be a pretty daring aviator who 
would try to land down there.” 

We stopped before the last steep ascent to rest the 
mules. Dave slipped off his and sat down on the 
ground. 

“I am thinking that you like the seat of an aero- 
plane better than the saddle of a mule, is that so?” 
called Mrs. Norton. 

“Here, boy, hold on to that bridle,” called Frank- 


44 


Mary in California 

lin. But alas, his call came too late. Dave’s small 
gray animal departed rapidly up the trail. 

“He doesn’t seem to need resting!” observed 
Dave in disgust. 

At that moment we heard a yell and a whoop from 
above. 

“Trix,” suggested Mr. Norton. 

When we turned the next curve in the trail, there 
were Trix and her small Indian friend calmly sitting 
on the runaway mule, who was eating his afternoon 
tea from the side of the trail. 

“Hi, that’s my donkey,” called Dave. 

Instantly, amid squeals of delight, the two young- 
sters dug their heels into the sides of their steed, 
who started upward. Dave rushed in pursuit and 
tried to catch the tail of the mule. 

“For the love of Pete keep away from his back 
legs,” yelled Franklin, and we all joined in the 
chorus, “Keep away from his back legs.” 

Dave jumped back just in time to avoid the heels 
that struck out. Then the mule, with his double 
burden, proceeded, the rest followed, and Dave 
slowly walked behind. He was muttering some- 
thing about an aeroplane being much better. 

There had been a photograph taken of our de- 
scent. A man had climbed up an unbelievable preci- 
pice and had snapped the party. We found the pic- 
tures waiting for us at the top. 

“Mother, now you see how you look,” said Mary. 

“Don’t you worry your mother now, Mary,” said 
Mrs. Norton. “She’s a good sport. You didn’t 
look so beautiful yourself for all you had bloomers 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 45 

and a middy blouse. These young folks always think 
they look fine. Your mother looks as though she 
wasn’t as used to mules as to some other method 
of locomotion — aeroplanes maybe. Trix, what have 
you been doing all day?” she ended, as we joined 
the runaway and his two riders. 

“We had a wonderful time — and oh, Mother! 
Can’t we ride back by the cabin and leave Tom? 
Please, please do.” 

“Is it far out of the way?” I asked. “I would 
like to thank your friends, but I am tired.” 

“No, it’s hardly any farther.” 

So the Doctor, Mary, and I rode with Trix to a 
little house of logs that made us think of our dearly 
loved cabin in New Mexico. We heard a low sing- 
ing as we approached. 

“Puva, puva, puva,” some one seemed to be 
saying. 

In front of the cabin sat a beautiful Indian girl, 
dressed in very simple American clothes, apparently 
lulling to sleep a small baby lying in her lap. 

“That’s his mother and the baby,” said Trix. 

The woman arose as we came up, and greeted us. 

“Thank you so much for taking care of our little 
girl,” said the Doctor. “You have been most kind.” 

“It was only a pleasure,” was the answer. “She 
and Tom have had much fun together. Tuvevol, do 
not forget your bow and arrows,” she added to Trix. 

“Is that your Indian name, Trix?” I asked. 
“What does it mean?” 

“Butterfly girl,” answered Trix. “Where is the 
bow?” 


4 6 Mary in California 

“That is a pretty name, Tuvevol. We’ll have to 
use it ourselves, when Trix is very good. What was 
the song you were singing when we came up?” 

“That is a lullaby. Would you like to hear it? 
Your little girl thought it was very nice and funny.” 

“Oh, please sing it for us,” cried Mary. 

“I will say first what it means. Puva is sleep — 

“ ‘Sleep, sleep, sleep, — 

In the trail the beetles 

On each other’s backs are sleeping, 

So on mine, my baby, thou — * 

“In Hopi land the beetles carry each other on 
their backs, and we say they are blind and sleeping. 
So the Hopi mothers carry their babies on the back 
and sing them to sleep. 

“ ‘Puva, puva, puva, 

Hohoyawu, 

Shulepo, pave-e 
N a — ikwiokiango, 

Puva, puva, puva/ ” 

“Won’t you sing it again?” asked the Doctor. 
“It is fascinating.” 

She sang it once more and then her husband came 
up. 

Again we thanked them both for their kindness. 

“Do you leave to-night?” asked the Indian. 

“Alas, yes. I wish we could stay longer and drive 
out to the painted desert. I have always wished to 
see it.” 

“Why do they call it that?” asked Trix. 

“Because of the beautiful colors, Tuvevol,” an- 
swered the Indian. “In the morning it is like the 


On Donkey Back to the Bottom of the Canon 47 

dew when the sun shines through it, and in the 
evening it is like the rainbow. We are sorry that 
you are going so soon. There is much that I would 
like to teach this little one. Also there are many 
things concerning my people that I would like to 
talk over with you.” 

“I certainly wish we could. But our reservations 
have been made long in advance and we are due in 
California very shortly. Thank you again.” 

“Then good-by, Tuvevol,” he said, turning to 
Trix. “Come again to see us.” 

Trix threw her arms around him and gave him a 
good hug. Then she proceeded to embrace his wife, 
but when she turned to find her boy playmate, he 
had disappeared. 

“Tom is afraid to be thought like a woman who 
kisses,” said the Indian, smiling. “I will tell him 
that you said good-by.” 

Then Trix picked up her bow and arrows and 
showed us a lovely piece of pottery that had been 
given her, and we departed regretfully. 

“They are fine people,” said the Doctor. “I 
heard at the hotel that they are both college gradu- 
ates, and are doing a lot of good among their 
people.” 

“I just love them,” said Trix. “We had such 
fun and they had such funny things to eat. I learned 
how to shoot, but I couldn’t shoot as far as Tom.” 

“I am sorry it is all over, but I am glad to get off 
this beast,” I said as we dismounted in front of the 
hotel. “Now for a few minutes’ rest and then we’re 
on our way again.” 


48 Mary in California 

“Mother, I wish I’d shown that Indian my ring,” 
said Mary. 

“Your father forbade your showing it to any 
one,” I replied. 

“But he is so friendly. And he went to college — ” 

“So was Mateo friendly, the Indian boy in New 
Mexico to whom you showed the ring. And see 
what happened. You were captured by Indians and 
lots of trouble came to lots of people.” 

“I would like to know more about it, and why 
Lobo wore it around his neck on that curious red and 
black cord. I wonder if El Lobo really died?” 

“Of course he did. They wouldn’t have given us 
the ring if he hadn’t.” 

“Well, he wasn’t dead when they took him off the 
train,” remarked Dave. “I bet we haven’t seen the 
last of him.” 


CHAPTER IV 


A FOREST FIRE NEAR LOS ANGELES 

W E are really on the last lap of our journey 
west,” announced the Doctor, as the train 
left Williams. 

“When will we be in Los Angeles, Daddy?” asked 
Mary. 

“To-morrow, soon after lunch, if the fates are 
good,” answered Mrs. Norton. “Then hurrah for 
home! And we’ll give you a really good California 
dinner. You will certainly eat with us and go to a 
show, won’t you?” 

“Well, I don’t know about the show part, but we 
would love to eat with you.” 

At that moment Mr. Norton approached waving 
a newspaper. 

“My dear, there may not be any Los Angeles by 
the time we get there,” he called. “There are big 
forest fires in the San Gabriel Canon and also north 
at Tejunga Canon and beyond near San Fernando.” 

“Fred, what do you mean?” asked his wife. 
“You must be fooling. Los Angeles could not be in 
danger.” 

“No, not really. But the fires in the mountains 
are very bad — the worst in years. I am worried 
about Jack’s ranch in the Little Tejunga.” 

49 


50 Mary in California 

“Who’s Jack?” asked Dave. “Oh, Dad, do get 
us a paper.” 

“Jack is Mr. Norton’s nephew,” answered Mrs. 
Norton. “But, Fred, that’s terrible. How about 
the watershed at Arroyo Seco, and the pleasure 
parks?” 

“The fire marshal thinks they are safe. But peo- 
ple are fleeing to Aruza from the San Gabriel 
Canon.” 

“How soon can we see it? Can we see it from 
the train?” demanded Dave eagerly. 

“What is it, what is it?” clamored Trix, who had 
not heard the beginning of the conversation. “Will 
it stop the train? Will it eat us up?” 

“It’s a big fire in the woods,” answered Dave. “A 
great big fire.” 

“Where? I want to see it,” cried Trix. 

“You won’t see it till to-morrow, probably,” an- 
swered her father. 

“The paper says the wind is blowing from the 
northeast, so you may not see it till nearly noon to- 
morrow,” added Mr. Norton. “But the air is full 
of fine ashes in Pasadena, and even as far as Santa 
Barbara.” 

“You won’t get a very fine view of Los Angeles, 
I’m thinking,” said Mrs. Norton. “I am so sorry. 
For the mountains around the city are beautiful.” 

“Oh, but think of seeing a real forest fire !” Mary 
put in. 

“I doubt if you see anything but a thick cloud of 
smoke,” said Mr. Norton. 

“Bless the kids,” added Mrs. Norton. “I be- 


A Forest Fire Near Los Angeles 51 

lieve they are thinking of something between a vol- 
cano and a bonfire. Unless you are actually on the 
firing line, you’d have to be up in an aeroplane to 
see any flames.” 

“Oh, Dad, can’t wc go up in an aeroplane?” asked 
Dave eagerly. 

“Mother, could we?” Mary echoed. 

“If that isn’t the modern child! Do you want an 
orchestra seat provided, and do you think you are 
going to a movie?” said Mrs. Norton. 

“Well, I wish it was to-morrow,” observed Dave. 
“I bet we’ll see more than you think.” 

The day seemed a long one. Mrs. Norton and 
Trixy were the most peaceful in appearance, for 
Mrs. Norton was finishing a pink knitted baby 
blanket — “For Jack’s youngest,” she said — and Trix 
was absorbed in a fortune-telling box. She busily 
rolled the little shot to and fro in the box, and when 
one would come to rest in a hole called out to one 
of the older members of the party to tell her what 
it meant. For to Trixy reading was slow and pain- 
ful. She could spell out — “Not I, said the dog. 
Not I, said the cat. I will, said the little red hen.” 
But telling her own fortune was too difficult. 

“Trixy, I don’t believe you know what it all 
means,” said Mary. “I won’t read it for you any 
more. You can’t care about it.” 

“But I do. Mrs. Norton, you do it,” demanded 
Trix. “What does this hole mean? It’s number 
six.” 

“A fortune awaits you if you are diligent,” read 
Mrs. Norton. 


52 


Mary in California 

“Yummy Yum,” exclaimed Trix joyfully. 

Mrs. Norton looked at her gravely. “I don’t 
think you ought to be so happy,” she said finally. 
“That’s very bad.” 

“Oh, dear, what does it mean?” asked Trix. 

“I think you are too young to know. Try another, 
Trix,” was the answer. The next hole, number five, 
told her to beware of a dark man. 

“What does ‘beware’ mean?” Trix said. 

“Get out of the way, be careful not to go near, 
something or some one that will hurt you.” 

“Does that mean Mr. Norton? He’s dark, isn’t 
he?” 

“Not dark enough. I think it means an Indian, 
or maybe the colored porter,” answered Mrs. 
Norton. 

“I am not afraid of him,” exclaimed Trix. “Why, 
he gave me some chewing gum before lunch, but 
don’t tell Mother,” she added in a whisper. 

The next morning, from Barstow on, where the 
railroad turned toward Los Angeles, Mary, Dave, 
and Trix fairly glued their faces to the window in 
the hope of seeing something of the burning forests. 
Dave declared he could smell smoke as he passed 
from car to car, after breakfast. 

“Maybe you can, but the wind is strong,” said 
Mr. Norton. “They say the trains down from Santa 
Barbara are full of fine ashes, in spite of the fact 
that all the windows are closed.” 

“That’s the way we’re going up, isn’t it, Dad?” 
asked Dave. “We’ll surely smell it then. And 
maybe see it too.” 


53 


A Forest Fire Near Los Angeles 

Later in the morning Mrs. Norton informed us 
that the mountains which we ought to be seeing were 
shrouded in the hazy smoke clouds which we could 
see to the southwest. 

“Where’s the smoke, where?” demanded Trix. 
“I don’t see any flames or any red.” 

“We are not near enough,” the Doctor told 
her. 

But even when we approached Pasadena and Los 
Angeles we could see only a smoky haze. At least 
we had the satisfaction of smelling the fire. The 
air was laden with it, and with the fine resultant 
ashes. 

“Oh, you will not be able to see any of our beau- 
tiful mountains,” mourned Mrs. Norton. “We are 
so proud of them. And now you can see literally 
nothing.” 

The Nortons were met at the station by a tall, 
fair-haired young woman who proved to be a niece, 
“Jack’s wife.” And before we parted, we to go to 
our hotel, and they to their home, we heard that 
“Jack” had gone up to the canon to help save his 
home. His wife had brought their two little chil- 
dren back to Los Angeles. 

“Be sure you dine with us to-night, and don’t for- 
get the address,” said Mr. Norton as we shook 
hands. 

“And if you hire that aeroplane take me too, 
Dave,” added Mrs. Norton. 

“I don’t like Mrs. Norton, — she’s too fresh,” 
growled Dave as we drove off in a taxi. “And say, 
Dad, we just must see something of that fire.” 


54 


Mary in California 

“I think d forest fire as big as that is a good thing 
to keep away from,” some one replied. 

It was very hot in the city. The clerk told us that 
the thermometer had risen twenty degrees owing to 
the fire. 

We had hardly gotten settled in our rooms and 
were planning how we would spend the afternoon, 
when the Doctor was called on the ’phone. Pres- 
ently he poked his head out of the booth and called 
to me. 

“It’s Mr. Norton,” he said in a low voice when 
I joined him. “He says he thinks Dave’s right, and 
that we ought not to miss the sight — that we could 
get near enough and still be out of danger. He 
wants to know if three of us will come up in 
his car. He himself will drive. What do you 
say?” 

What could I say? “Which three?” 

“Gracious, we’re not going to the Altar of Sacri- 
fice. I should say you, Dave, and Mary.” 

“Isn’t it crazy?” I asked. 

“No, of course not. Mr. Norton would not pro- 
pose it.” 

“All right, say yes. We can discuss who’ll go 
later.” 

“A woman might be in the way, and the Doctor 
might be especially valuable,” I thought as I joined 
the children. 

“Mary, run upstairs quick and put on your 
bloomers. Mr. Norton is going to take you and 
Dave and Daddy out to see the fire.” 

There was no need for a second bidding. 


A Forest Fire Near Los Angeles 55 

“Why can’t I go? I want to go, Mother,” was 
Trix’s cry. 

“You and I are going to stay behind,” I answered. 
“Maybe we can go to see Mrs. Norton.” 

The Doctor joined us. “Well, what’s decided?” 

“You and Dave and Mary are to go.” 

“Nonsense, I want you to go.” 

“Now, don’t be foolish, my dear,” I answered. 
“It’s a chance of a lifetime for the children. And 
if anything happened you would be more useful than 
I. So it’s all decided. But do put on something old 
— your Grand Canon clothes. Mary has gone up to 
change.” 

Almost before we were ready, Mr. Norton ap- 
peared. 

“Who’s going?” he asked. 

“The Doctor, Mary, and Dave,” I answered. 

“I guessed it. Mrs. Norton said to tell you and 
Trix to come over and stay with her. She has some- 
thing planned for you.” 

I said we accepted with pleasure. 

The next minute Mary and Dave had given me 
frantic hugs and the Doctor had kissed me good-by. 

“Don’t be worried,” was Mr. Norton’s parting 
remark, “I’m a very safe driver and I won’t run 
any risks.” 

Presently Trix and I issued forth, and after a 
short walk found Mrs. Norton, her niece, Mrs. 
Jack, a lively little girl of five, and a baby who “looks 
like my big doll you wouldn’t let me bring,” as Trix 
said. 

Mrs. Jack and Trix were both in a state of half 


56 Mary in California 

rebellion at not being allowed to join the party who 
were going up the canon. Mrs. Norton and I ap- 
peared outwardly calm, though I know that we both 
were sorry to be left behind. 

Trix and small Antoinette played together in the 
garden, while Mrs. Norton and her niece invited 
me to wander about the streets to see the sights. 

“It’s a shame you can’t see the mountains,” ob- 
served Mrs. Jack. “We have such lovely ranges. 
But that’s just where the fires are. Our canon, the 
Little Tejunga, seems to be in a good deal of danger. 
Of course I can’t help being worried to have my 
husband up there without me. But he said he would 
feel freer to work if I were here with the young- 
sters.” 

“Children do seem to be dreadfully in the way 
sometimes,” remarked Mrs. Norton. “I know you 
two mothers are wishing yours were somewhere in 
the heavenly regions.” 

“Well, not quite so far as that,” I laughed. 

“You bad, bad mothers. Here am I with the one 
member of my family gone to the fire, and I am not 
complaining, while you are grumbling and yet have 
your babes here to comfort you.” 

“Well, why didn’t you go?” asked Mrs. Jack, a 
little crossly. 

“Because, my love, having gone through one for- 
est fire I can get along quite well without another. 
They really are quite terrifying.” 

“When did you go through one, Auntie?” asked 
her niece. 

“I was on the last train that got through in a big 


A Forest Fire Near Los Angeles 57 

fire in Canada once. It nearly burned the roof over 
our heads, and we could hardly move for the poor 
wood creatures that were trying to escape along the 
track. It was like being in a stove, and you know 
my warm Irish heart doesn’t need any extra heat. 
I always preferred Daniel’s lion den to the fiery fur- 
nace of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. And 
the roar of it ! It was frightful. Then I can’t bear 
to see the wonderful trees go. They seem to totter 
and fall like soldiers in a battle.” 

“I wonder how this one started. Some one was 
careless, I suppose.” 

“People are so wicked in their carelessness,” burst 
out Mrs. Jack. “Think of the glory of our forests, 
not to mention the pleasant homes and the possible 
injury to people caused by this fire. And some 
fool was probably out camping and thought he’d 
put his fire out. Or maybe he didn’t even do that 
much. It’s sickening.” 

We wandered through the streets of that city 
of pleasant and hospitable homes. But the hot, 
smoky haze from the fire seemed to be heavy on 
us all. 

“It must be terrible up in the mountains,” shud- 
dered Mrs. Norton. “Let us go home and find the 
children.” 

“When do you expect our tourists back again ?” 
I asked. 

“Well,” replied Mrs. Norton, “if the Doctor is 
the man I take him for, and something like my 
husband, they’ll come back when the gasoline gives 
out or their stomachs cry cupboard too loudly. They 


Mary in California 

won’t go where it’s too dangerous; that is, where the 
boys are fighting with the shovel, and maybe the fact 
that Mary and Dave are along will make them cau- 
tious, too. But they will go where there is some- 
thing doing or I am much mistaken. I hope they 
will pick up Jack and bring him home.” 

We found Trix and Antoinette making mud pies, 
with the usual result of dirty clothes. But such won- 
derful chocolate-colored cakes as they had madel 
It made us hungry to look at them. 

“Let’s have some tea,” said Mrs. Jack. “I think 
we may be having a late dinner.” 

“My dear, we won’t wait for the auto party,” 
answered Mrs. Norton. “But I have no objection 
to tea now.” 

“How far is it up to the canon?” I asked. 

“Well, I should say about twenty-five miles. But 
distances really mean very little to me when I’m in 
an auto. It may be farther. I fancy they’ll ‘step on 
the gas,’ as the boys say. It’s a pity that Dave 
didn’t get his aeroplane,” replied Mrs. Norton. 

About half past seven in the evening I decided 
that Trix and I had better go back to our hotel. 
Mrs. Norton urged us to stay all night, but I felt 
that there would be a houseful should Mr. Jack 
return. Antoinette had already gone upstairs with 
her mother. 

“When shall you begin to worry?” I asked Mrs. 
Norton, as we said good-by. 

“I don’t intend to worry. I have a stirring novel, 
and if I can keep Mrs. Jack from worrying all will 
go well. It isn’t as though this fire were an unex- 


A Forest Fire Near Los Angeles 59 

pected danger that would leap up at them. They 
can’t miss it, and they don’t have to stay with it, 
as the real fire fighters do.” 

It was nearly midnight when the ’phone in my 
room rang. My windows were on the north side, 
and I could see the dull red in the sky, toward the 
mountains. I was glad to hear the ’phone, and more 
than glad when the Doctor’s voice came from the 
other end. 

“We’re here, and safe, and we’ll be right home. 
I certainly feel like a wretch to have kept you worry- 
ing all this time. Forgive us. We’ll be right back 
as soon as we can get a taxi.” 

“Where’s the auto?” I asked. 

“In ashes on the mountain, I guess.” 

And I had to wait twenty minutes before the wan- 
derers returned to explain the fate of the car. They 
were so hungry that they simply had to be fed before 
answering questions, although Mary could hardly 
eat in her eagerness to tell me all about it. Dave 
was half asleep, and rolled into bed after drinking 
a glass of milk. 

“Well, we certainly saw the fire,” laughed Mary. 
“Mother, it was wonderful and terrible, and I al- 
most wish I hadn’t seen it. We brought Mr. Jack 
back with us. He’s so nice, Mother, and such fun. 
But he ought not to have stayed so long. You see, 
he couldn’t tell from his house how near the fire 
was coming. But we could. And besides, we were 
told by one of the rangers. We just had to go after 
him.” 

“But how about the car?” I asked. “And how 


6o 


Mary in California 

did you get home? And Mary, you simply must go 
to bed. It’s after twelve.” 

“But I want to tell you. I can’t sleep, any- 
way.” 

“You’ve had your fun to-day, Mary,” said her 
father. “Now go to bed, even if you can’t 
sleep.” 

“We will all go soon,” I added, “But I must 
hear about the car first.” 

“We did not realize,” began the Doctor, “just 
how bad things were; there was such a heavy pall 
of smoke over everything. It was getting pretty 
hot, and I felt that we ought not to go on much 
farther. I was worried a little about the children, 
and I knew you would be troubled. The road was 
in perfectly good condition, but of course we couldn’t 
see far ahead. It was evident that the canon was in 
a bad position, though. Mr. Norton was worried 
about his nephew. Of course he might have left, 
but we had not met him. Then we met a car coming 
down, with a couple of men in it, rangers. They 
advised us to go back. Mr. Norton asked if there 
were any men up in the camps or cottages above. 
The rangers answered that they had seen a couple 
of men up there, one of them they believed was a 
Mr. Ferris. That was Norton’s nephew. We asked 
if they were coming down or were staying to try to 
save things. The rangers didn’t know. They told 
us, however, that two of the bridges were down 
farther on. We held a council of war. 

“I regretted the presence of Mary and Dave 
more than I can say. I felt that Mr. Norton wanted 


A Forest Fire Near Los Angeles 6 1 

to push on to find his nephew, but did not think he 
ought to risk it with the children. There did not 
seem to be any immediate danger. We were running 
very slowly. The air was heavy with smoke, and as 
I said before, we could not see far ahead of us. 
There was a continuous low roar in our ears, but I 
could realize that it was not loud enough to mean 
that the fire was very near. 

“At that moment of indecision, we heard shouts 
and saw a man running toward us down the road. 
He seemed pretty much excited. As he came nearer, 
Mr. Norton called out, ‘Jack!’ I confess I was 
relieved. Now we need go no farther. Ferris 
called, ‘Where are you going?’ as soon as he came 
near enough to be heard. He was dirty and dishev- 
eled, and looked tuckered out. He told us to get 
away just as quick as possible. 

“We turned around, but even during the few min- 
utes that it took us to turn things seemed to happen. 
The roaring suddenly increased, the smoke about 
half a mile below us seemed suddenly to lift, and a 
long flame shot across the road. I certainly cursed 
my foolishness in coming there with the children. 
Mr. Norton looked pretty white. Jack Ferris ran 
down the road a little way to see if we could make 
a run for it. There didn’t seem to be much fire fol- 
lowing the first blaze. We saw him beckon to us. 
There was so much noise we could not hear well. 
Fortunately for us, it had been a sort of freak fire 
that had run across the road, a sort of finger from 
the main fist that was devastating the land about. 
We could go on. But — the finger had written on 


6 2 


Mary in California 

our path and the bridge was gone. We tried to get 
the car around, but could not get it up the far side. 
So we abandoned it, and climbed up ourselves oyer 
the still glowing path of the flames. Fortunately we 
all had heavy boots on. 

“When we got back on the road again we started 
down the hill on a dogtrot. We had not gone more 
than a mile when we heard shouts again, and were 
overjoyed to meet the two rangers, who had warned 
us so short a time before. They had seen the fire 
leap across the road from below, and had come back 
fearing for our safety. We all piled into their small 
car. It was getting dusk by that time, owing partly 
to the heavy smoke. We could also plainly see the 
flames in the canon above us. 

“The two rangers expressed their opinion of us 
pretty forcibly, and I guess they were right. I am 
sure Norton and I felt like a couple of old fools. 
But I know he was mighty glad to have picked up his 
nephew. We got away out of the danger zone, and 
the farther we got the more dangerous it looked. 
When we’d gone quite a way down, we came to a 
crossroad, and then the rangers said they would 
have to leave us. They were going in a different 
direction. I think they said up to San Fernando or 
somewhere. 

“There was nothing for it but to pile out and start 
home on foot. I certainly felt like more kinds of a 
fool. If only Mary and Dave had stayed at home. 
The kids were fine. They laughed and sang songs, 
and Ferris, having swallowed some of his indignant 


A Forest Fire Near Los Angeles 63 

astonishment at our being there at all, joined in. So 
we trudged along, packing our troubles in our old 
kit bag, or ‘Marching as to War,’ or ‘Taking Our 
Walking Shoes.’ Just as it began to be dark in real 
earnest, we were picked up by a motor truck that had 
been taking fire fighters and shovels to some other 
part of the conflict. 

“The two men in charge certainly were nice to us. 
They thought we were homeless refugees, and we 
made Ferris answer all their questions, because he 
really had cause to be there. He told them and us, 
too, how he had done everything to save his cottage, 
but after doing all he could had taken the most valu- 
able possessions and buried them. He could see 
from the upper story that a streak of fire was gaining 
some headway below him, so he left in haste. The 
truck took us to Pasadena, which, by the way, looks 
like} Herculaneum almost, it is so covered with 
ashes. In Pasadena we hired a taxi, and came back 
alive and hungry, as you see, and hoping to be for- 
given.” 

“I must say, I think Mr. Norton ought to be 
hanged, drawn, and quartered,” I said. “The idea 
of his getting you into such a predicament.” 

“I suppose at first he thought there was no danger, 
and when he found there was, he only thought of his 
nephew. But I know he feels pretty bad about it. I 
imagine Mrs. Norton will tell him what she thinks 
of it.” 

“I hope she does. If she doesn’t, I will.” 

“Is the contrary true?” asked the Doctor. 


6 4 Mary in California 

“Meaning that if she does, I shouldn’t? I won’t 
promise.” 

“But it all ended all right,” pleaded the Doctor. 
“And it was a wonderful experience. Mary and 
Dave will never forget it. Think how they’ll talk 
about it to the boys and girls at home.” 


CHAPTER V 


LOS ANGELES 


HE pall of smoke still hung over the city when 



A we were awakened late the next morning by 
the telephone. The Nortons were anxious to know 
how we were and when we planned to leave, and 
would we not take a drive with them that morning? 

“I am afraid your wife will think that you have 
taken enough drives with me. But Mrs. Norton 
wishes to take the helm this time,” said Mr. Nor- 
ton’s voice over the ’phone. 

“Well, if she drives maybe you can persuade the 
Madame to go, but you will have to make your 
peace with her,” replied the Doctor laughingly. 

“What do you say?” he added, turning to me. 
“Will you take a drive if Mrs. Norton drives?” 

“Really, I don’t see the joke,” I answered. 

“Oh, Mother, come on, be a sport. Let’s have a 
drive. We are not going to Santa Barbara till after 
lunch.” This from Mary, who had poked her head 
in at the door at the sound of our voices. 

“All right, providing we go nowhere near the 
fire,” I answered. 

So the plan was made to go, and in about an hour 
the Nortons arrived in a big touring car. Mr. and 
Mrs. “Jack” and Mr. and Mrs. Norton were in it, 
but somehow room was found for our five as well. 


66 


Mary in California 

Trix and I sat in front with Mrs. Norton, and the 
rest piled in back. 

Mrs. Norton began at once to condemn the rash- 
ness of the trip of the day before, and presently I 
found myself more reconciled and more ready to 
forgive Mr. Norton. 

Mary and Dave were evidently so full of excite- 
ment and joy at the thought of the danger they had 
run that I began to feel a little proud. 

“Mother, just think of going into a real forest 
fire and rescuing somebody,” cried Mary. 

“Meaning me?” laughed Mr. Jack. “You 
know I think you needed rescuing quite as much as I. 
But if you want some real thrillers, you should have 
heard some of the yarns I was told down town this 
morning.” 

“Please, please tell us,” begged Mary. 

“Well, two men up in the Pocoima Canon worked 
for two days to save some houses. They started 
back fires — ” 

“What are back fires?” asked Mary. 

“I know,” broke in Dave. 

“Tell us, then,” said his father. 

“Why they dig up the ground and make a trench 
where nothing could burn.” 

“Who is ‘they,’ and why could nothing burn?” 

“The fire fighters, of course. Nothing could burn 
because earth won’t burn and they leave no grass 
or bushes or trees in the cleared place. They make 
it long and in the direct path of the forest fire. Then 
they start another fire, the back fire, in front of the 
trench. The flames haven’t anything to burn in 


Los Angeles 67 

back, so they go forward and meet the real fire. 
When they meet they go out. The men have to 
watch the side, though, and be ready with their 
shovels to whack out any spreading flames.” 

“That’s a good description, Dave,” said Mr. 
Jack. “Now, then, as you can imagine, it was 
quite hard work for these two men to dig and dig 
steadily for several days. One of the men put a lot 
of valuable things in his fireplace, and packed them 
in with fifty bags of cement. The fire was burning 
just above them, and they could hear the roar of the 
flames. Suddenly, a great rock was dislodged by the 
burning of its bed of bushes, and came tumbling 
down, bringing some hot embers with it. Instantly 
the woods started burning below the house, and it 
took several hours of hard work to get it out. 

“In another place fifty fire fighters were almost 
trapped. They had* been working hard with their 
shovels to keep back the fire in front and at the 
side, when suddenly one man, stopping to rest, 
turned around and saw that the fire had crept in be- 
low them and they were entirely surrounded by 
flames. 

“They worked like mad to keep their island of 
safety; some of them were scorched by the heat and 
one fellow had his shoes burned off his feet. The 
heat was terrible. But somehow they managed to 
beat back their enemy until the fire died down on one 
side enough to enable them to escape to a safer 
place.” 

“I don’t think I’d like to be a fire warden,” said 
Mary. “We were quite near enough yesterday.” 


68 


Mary in California 

We drove over to Pasadena, “just to show 
Mother the ashes,” as Dave explained. The smoke, 
too, was heavier here, and a long red tongue of flame 
could be seen occasionally leaping across some ditch 
or small canon up in the mountains. 

“We can’t see Mt. Lowe,” said Mr. Norton. “It 
is so high that the snow comes early on it and stays 
till late in the spring. So while the folks here in 
Pasadena are celebrating their wonderful rose festi- 
val on the first of January, an hour or so away other 
people are skiing and snowshoeing and coasting.” 

“I hate to think of all those beautiful trees up on 
the hills,” said Mrs. Norton. “Let’s go back. It 
is too much like a battlefield full of wounded and 
dying. We’ll take in the Los Angeles mission, and 
then have an early lunch. The mission is not nearly 
as beautiful as the one at Santa Barbara which you 
are soon to see, but it is interesting historically.” 

“What’s a mission?” asked Trix. 

“Mary, what is a mission?” said the Doctor. 

“Well, I thought a mission was a number of 
Christian people going to the heathen as mission- 
aries.” 

“Trix, do you understand?” 

“No, what are heathen?” 

“I think we’ll just talk about missions now and 
forget about the heathen. The missions of Cali- 
fornia were houses like churches, Trix, built some- 
thing like the New Mexican adobe churches. They 
were built a long time ago by Spanish priests who 
wanted to teach the Indians how to be Christians 
and tell them about the Lord Jesus. They gathered 


Los Angeles 69 

all the Indians of the neighborhood together and 
had schools for the children, and taught the men and 
women all sorts of useful things. But first of all 
they taught them to pray. When the mission bells 
rang every Indian stopped his working and said his 
prayers.” 

“Oh, Daddy, that’s like the Angelus picture,” 
cried Mary. “The Angelus called the French peas- 
ants to pray.” 

We found the quaint old Los Angeles mission 
building with its bell towers. 

“It is not as perfect as some of the others, but it 
is one of the oldest,” said Mr. Norton. “Our beau- 
tiful mission buildings were all going to rack and 
ruin when Helen Hunt Jackson got interested in 
Indians and historical things generally, and wrote 
‘Ramona.’ A number of public-spirited people then 
formed a club to preserve our old landmarks.” 

Presently we returned to the Nortons’ house, and 
while we were waiting for lunch we wandered 
through the big gardens, with their orange and prune 
trees. There were still some ripe plum-prunes hang- 
ing from the lower branches, large and luscious. 
Mary said she liked them much better this way, but 
Dave and Trix agreed that they preferred them 
dried, the way they came at home. 

“You can see them being dried all over this part 
of California and nearly as far as San Francisco,” 
said Mrs. Norton, “if it’s drying you want, — great 
fields of them, with their owners praying on every 
side that the Lord will hold back the rains till the 
drying is over. 


70 


Mary in California 

“But come, here is Wu to tell us lunch is ready.” 

Sure enough, in the door stood a pleasant-faced, 
quiet old Chinaman, without his Chinese costume, in 
spotless white, only wearing the noiseless Chinese 
slippers. 

Presently, as we sat at lunch, Mary whispered to 
me, “Mother, he has a cord round his neck just like 
the one my ring is on.” 

“Nonsense, Mary,” I answered softly. 

“But it’s true,” she insisted. “I just caught a 
glimpse of it. Now look, when he bends over to 
scrape the crumbs from the table.” 

Then I did notice at the back of the man’s neck 
just a glimpse of a narrow cord, black and red, like 
the one El Lobo had worn. 

“I wish Mr. Norton would ask him what it is. 
Maybe he knows.” 

When the servant went out to get the dessert, 
Mary whispered to Mr. Norton, “Do you know 
what the cord is the Chinese man who waits on the 
table wears around his neck?” 

“What color is it?” said Mr. Norton. 

“Black and red, very curiously woven.” 

“I don’t know. They have quantities of secret 
societies. But they really keep them secret. One 
thing is sure, though. Anything a Chinaman wears 
means something. How about it, Jack? You know 
more about such things than I do.” 

“Why, I think there is some ancestral, back to 
China, society, several thousand years old, that has 
a red and black insignia. I believe they have a queer 
sort of animal for a mascot or totem symbol. It is 


Los Angeles 71 

anti-foreign and anti-Jap. Its chief strength lies in 
China. Naturally, the men over here don’t care so 
much. They have a legend about a winged animal 
and a maiden — ” 

At that moment the silent Wu entered, bringing 
in a wonderful pastry filled with whipped cream. 

“I hear they have gathered a harvest of rattle- 
snakes up in the mountains,” said Mr. Norton, turn- 
ing the conversation. “The oil contained in their 
bodies is quite valuable. In one place more than a 
hundred were discovered, their skins uninjured by 
the fire. Some say the smoke smothered them. 
Others again say they bite themselves to death to 
keep from being burned.” 

“Huh,” said Dave. “I don’t believe they bit 
themselves. How could they? Don’t they always 
strike, after rearing up?” 

“Well, I am not sure that they would, even if they 
could,” remarked Jack Ferris. 

“What do you think, Wu, do the rattlers kill 
themselves when they are threatened?” 

The servant shook his head. “Snakes very wise,” 
was his only remark. “Rattlesnake he not so wise. 
He talk too much. Wise fellow strike and kill with- 
out telling.” 

With these words Wu disappeared kitchenward. 

“Well,” said Mr. Norton, “it looks as though 
friend Wu heard what we were saying about Chinese 
secret societies. How did you happen to ask about 
the cord, Mary?” he added. 

“That’s too long a story to tell now,” interrupted 
the Doctor, “especially after Wu’s gentle hint.” 


72 


Mary in California 

As we returned to the hotel, “Mary,” said her 
father, “where do you keep the ring?” 

“In a little box in my bag. I sort of hate to wear 
it after El Lobo — I mean the cord and all. He was 
so dirty.” 

“I think I’ll take charge of it,” said the Doctor. 
“I can keep the little box in an inside pocket. But 
I believe I’ll send it back East or put it in a bank 
for safe-keeping in San Francisco.” 

“Oh, Dad, put it in the bank. Don’t send it by 
mail again.” 

“All right, the bank be it. But for goodness’ sake 
don’t ask any more questions about cords and 
things.” 

Early that afternoon we started for Santa Bar- 
bara. The windows and doors of the train were 
kept shut, but in spite of that, the fine ashes from 
the forest fire sifted in and the air was hot and thick. 

“I have always wanted to see Santa Barbara,” I 
said. “I think of it as the land of flowers.” 

“Well, you may not see as many of them as you 
hoped for at this time of the year. It is apt to be 
dry, and the flowers absent. But this has been such 
an unusual summer with so much rain that we may 
get some flowers. At least we can see the lovely 
trees and houses. I have planned to stay at a quaint 
hotel outside of Santa Barbara right near the beach. 
You wanted to see Santa Barbara because of the 
flowers. Well, ever since I was a youngster I’ve 
wanted to see the Cave of the Devils, or whatever 
it is called, out on Santa Cruz Island off the coast 
here. I’ve read of it and heard of it and seen pic- 


Los Angeles 73 

tures of it and imagined it. And by Jingo, to-mor- 
row I am going to get a launch and go over and see 
it.” 

“Won’t you take us, Dad?” asked Dave. 

“I won’t consider going without you!” laughed 
the Doctor. “Hurrah for the bounding main to- 
morrow! And then the day after we go on to 
Frisco.” 

We had passed the smoke of the Los Angeles 
fires by this time, and were passing through rolling 
country with brown hills, and the high blue moun- 
tains of the Sierras to the far east. To the west lay 
the great Pacific Ocean, and as we approached Santa 
Barbara we could catch glimpses of it below us, roll- 
ing in on the sandy beaches, with a white edge of 
surf. 

We got out at a little station just south of Santa 
Barbara, and went over to the comfortable and pic- 
turesque hotel, spread out in one-story bungalows. 
Great palms reared their heads among the high trees, 
giving the grounds a strange appearance. 

The rooms assigned to us were farthest away 
from the dining room in the main building. The 
sound of the surf on the shore could be heard quite 
plainly, although it was too far to see. Each room 
had a door that opened on to the grounds. 

“It would be very safe in case of fire,” suggested 
Mary. 

“But how about burglars?” asked Dave. 

“There are none,” I answered quickly. 

It had been a hard day, so after we had eaten a 
delicious supper, Dave and Trix retired. Indeed, 


74 Mary in California 

Mary, the Doctor, and I soon followed them. The 
Doctor and I had the farthest room, then came Dave 
in a small room, and lastly Mary and Trix. 

“Be sure you lock your door, Mary,” were our 
last good-night words. 

“She has,” called Trix from beneath the covers. 

It must have been after midnight when I was 
awakened by hearing conversation in the children’s 
rooms. The Doctor arose and went in to see what 
the trouble was. It seemed that Trix had awakened 
and thought she saw some one moving in the room. 
She called to know if it was Mary, but Mary had 
evidently been asleep. The Doctor laughed at her, 
but Trix stuck to her tale. Her father examined 
the room and found nothing gone. 

“But why did you not lock your door?” he asked. 
“We told you to.” 

“I did,” said Mary. 

“She did,” echoed Trix. 

“Well, it’s unlocked now. You must be mis- 
taken, and only thought you locked it. At any rate, 
I have bolted it now and we will leave the doors in 
between the rooms open. So try to go to sleep.” 

I am afraid it was some time before the children 
followed this good advice. We could hear Trix 
exclaiming from time to time that she was sure she 
saw something. But finally every one quieted down. 

“It was strange about that door, though,” said 
the Doctor. 


CHAPTER VI 


SMUGGLERS ON THE CHANNEL ISLANDS 
HE next morning Trix was questioned as to the 



A intruder of the night before. But sleep seemed 
to have removed all but the vaguest recollections. 
She was sure there had been some one moving in 
the room, that was all. The Doctor reported it to 
the hotel clerk after breakfast and then proceeded 
to find out how we could best hire a launch to go out 
to the island of Santa Cruz. It was decided to go 
in to Santa Barbara first, see the mission, and drive 
about the town and take a boat from there. 

It was a perfect day, with a calm blue sea stretch- 
ing forever toward the west. Santa Barbara ap- 
peared like a foreign town with its bright sunlit 
streets, its palms and gardens, its charming low-built 
houses. The mission was just as we had always 
pictured it. The two towers with their bells, the 
smooth walls, the gardens and grounds, all seemed 
to speak of California’s early days, the days of the 
worthy fathers who braved untold dangers to do 
their duty as they saw it. Only the church was open 
to the ladies of the party, and we did not see the 
mysterious '“forbidden gardens.” I would have 
liked to linger and talk to the old Franciscan who 
piloted us about and showed us relics in the church. 
But some of the party were impatient, and before I 


75 


7 6 Mary in California 

knew it, almost, we were embarked in a little launch 
and speeding out over the Pacific. 

The town of Santa Barbara smiled out on us from 
its background of brown hills and wished us a pleas- 
ant journey, I’ve no doubt. 

“Who was Father Serra?” asked Mary. “That 
priest in there at the mission spoke of him several 
times.” 

“He was one of the pioneer missionaries of the 
Franciscan order,” I answered. “He lived in the 
early part of the eighteenth century, and gave up a 
brilliant career in Spain and Mexico to tramp thou- 
sands of miles on foot to preach to the Indians. 
There is a story that once when water was scarce 
and every one else was complaining, some one asked 
the worthy padre if he did not suffer from thirst. 
He replied that he had found a secret, which was to 
eat little and talk less, so as not to waste the saliva. 

“He always traveled on foot, as that was the rule 
of his order. And besides, he could get into more 
friendly relations with the Indians that way. Of 
course he could not carry supplies, and had to de- 
pend largely on the generosity of the savages as he 
called them.” 

“It seems queer that the whites and Indians didn’t 
stay good friends,” said Mary. “They began right.” 

“The trouble came when the whites decided that 
the earth belonged to them, and that their red 
brothers had no rights at all except to a place in 
heaven,” replied her father. “Of course there were 
some cruel savages, our old friends the Apaches and 
others. But when one thinks of what our race has 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 77 

done to the Indians the wrongs seem mostly on the 
other side. And the worst of it is that the cruelty 
of the whites came from their desire for gold and for 
wealth. There was absolutely no excuse for it.” 

“Daddy, what’s that?” interrupted Trix. 

“What’s what?” 

“Over there, like a big mountain.” 

“That’s the nearest of the island group, Ana- 
capa,” said the man who was running the launch, 
Captain Danforth. “It is really three islands, but 
from here it looks like one.” 

“How much farther is Santa Cruz?” asked the 
Doctor. 

“Oh, quite a bit from here. Anacapa is about 
halfway.” 

“What are you going to see on the island?” asked 
Dave. 

“Are we going to have a picnic?” demanded 
Trix. 

“We are going to have a picnic and we are going 
into a big, big cave, much bigger than the one in 
New Mexico. And we are going to see sea lions 
and hear the strangest, most awful noises you ever 
heard !” answered her father. 

“What are sea lions?” asked Dave. “Just what 
do they look like?” 

“I know,” said Mary. “I saw some trained ones 
last year. They played ball with their noses. They 
are such funny-looking creatures, with black shiny 
bodies and tails and big mouths and queer flapper 
arms. And my, they make the biggest noise. And, 
oh, they spit!” 


78 


Mary in California 

“You used to give a lively representation of 
one, didn’t you, in your youth?” I said to the 
Doctor. 

“Now don’t recall my early sins!” he replied. 

“Daddy, do it!” begged Mary. 

And “Daddy, do it,” clamored Trix and Dave. 

“I am afraid I would upset the boat,” answered 
their father. “You wait till you’ve seen the real 
ones/ Then maybe I’ll do it for you.” 

We passed the wild rocky shores of the Anacapa 
Islands, where the surf broke on the cliffs in white 
foam even on such a calm day as this. 

“It looks a little like the Maine coast,” said the 
Doctor. 

“I bet it would be fun to climb on,” remarked 
Dave. “Aren’t there lots of caves and things?” he 
asked Captain Danforth. 

“The island we are heading for has the caves,” 
was the reply. 

“They say Drake came here in the old days when 
he sailed the Spanish Main,” added the Doctor. 
“And pirates and buccaneers used to hide their booty 
on Santa Cruz.” 

“Aren’t you thinking of the islands in the West 
Indies?” I asked. 

“There were pirates and smugglers here too, 
Ma’am,” said our skipper. “And they do say that 
many a Chinaman has come in, not so long ago, by 
way of these islands.” 

“Oh, Dad, what fun! Why shouldn’t he come 
in?” asked Dave. 

“Under the Chinese Exclusion Act only certain 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 79 

classes of Chinese were allowed to enter. Both 
Chinese and Japanese laborers have made them- 
selves unpopular here.” 

“Why, Daddy?” Mary demanded. 

“Why is it, Captain Danforth? You’re a native, 
tell the children.” 

“Me a native? I came from Cape Cod thirty 
years ago. I’m no native. But they are right about 
the Japs and the Chinese. They live on rice and 
work twenty hours a day. And how can a union 
man and a white man keep up with them? Why 
can’t they stay at home?” 

“You didn’t,” remarked Dave. 

Captain Danforth from Cape Cod puffed on his 
pipe for a moment. “But I don’t live on rice,” he 
remarked presently. “Nor I don’t work twenty 
hours a day.” 

“I bet you don’t,” laughed Dave. 

“Dave, you are not being polite,” I said. 

And, “You’re too fresh,” said Mary. 

“Don’t you worry, the boy made a catch that 
time, Ma’am,” observed our skipper. “But I’ll get 
even with him yet. So look out for squalls, young 
man,” he added, turning to Dave. 

“Do you know anything about Chinese secret so- 
cieties, Captain Danforth?” asked Mary. 

“Me? Why should I know anything about ’em? 
As long as they wash my shirts for me, I don’t care 
what they belong to. Let them have their unions. 
No, I don’t know anything about them. Except as 
I was saying before, I’ve been told some get in by 
way of these islands that don’t belong here.” 


8o 


Mary in California 

“I suppose you never brought a boatload over, 
did you?” asked the Doctor. 

“Me — what would I want with a boatload of 
Chinamen? — or whiskey either,” he added with a 
grin. 

“Oh, Mother,” whispered Mary, “do you suppose 
he smuggles in drinks and things?” 

“Mother, I’m thirsty,” broke in Trix, who had 
caught the words but not their meaning. “Where 
is something to drink?” 

“Oh, Trix, can’t you wait till we have lunch on 
the island?” said Mary. 

The Doctor took out the thermos bottle and pro- 
ceeded to serve out the water. Then came a cry for 
food. 

“I am hungry, Mother,” said Dave. 

“So am I,” echoed Trix. 

A box of crackers was opened. “No more now 
till lunch,” was the order. 

“Not even one sandwich?” begged Dave. 

“Not a crumb. Look, Trix, we are approaching 
our island.” 

“That north end where you see that high mountain 
is Point Diablo,” remarked Captain Danforth. 
“It’s under that end that the Painted Cave is located. 
Shall we go straight there, Sir?” 

“Let’s eat lunch first,” was the chorus. 

“All right, Skipper,” said the Doctor. “Land 
us in a good place to cook our bacon and we’ll take 
in the cave afterward. Hullo, isn’t that a boat out 
there before us?” 

“ ’Pears to be, a fishing launch I reckon. Or maybe 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 81 

after sea lions. They catch them here occasionally 
for museums.” 

A large launch was anchored off the east coast of 
the island and several small boats seemed to be ply- 
ing between it and the shore. 

“Are they fishermen?” asked Dave. 

“Do you see those big wooden cages floating in 
the water?” asked Captain Danforth, replying in 
true Cape Cod fashion with another question. 
“They keep the sea lions in them until they get 
enough to bring their catch ashore. I thought they 
were lion catchers,” he added. 

“Maybe we can see them catch one of the sea 
lions,” cried Dave. “How do they do it?” 

“Well, a lot of cow punchers get together and 
drive the creatures back into some cave where they 
can’t get away. When the sea lion is cornered he 
will fight, you bet. As soon as they start to attack, 
they are roped, just like steers, by the lariat throw- 
ers. Then they are dragged out and put in the 
cages till enough good ones are caught, when all 
hands are piped aboard and the captured sea lions 
are taken back to the mainland. It’s pretty danger- 
ous work and sometimes the catchers have to beat 
a quick retreat. Often the sea lions will bite or tear 
the rope and get away. They’re a queer lot. Al- 
ways screeching and fighting among themselves. 
They sound like crazy creatures.” 

Our boat had by this time got within hailing dis- 
tance of the large launch. 

“That skipper there is a friend of mine,” observed 
Danforth. “I thought they were hunting sea lions. 


82 


Mary in California 

He doesn’t appear to have caught any yet, though. 
Yes, there’s one in that cage. Look there, boy.” 
And Dave looked, as did all the rest of us. 

Sure enough, in one of the floating cages was a 
screaming black thing, shining and slippery, and 
churning the water with its tail. 

“Poor thing, why don’t they let it go?” said Mary, 
while Trix clung to her father and whispered, “I 
am scared.” 

“Had any luck?” called Danforth to a rough- 
looking man on the other boat. 

“Just one. We’re waiting till later, or maybe 
early to-morrow morning to get a real catch.” 

“Good luck to you,” called Danforth. “I am 
here on a picnic. We go back soon.” 

Then we proceeded on our way and anchored in 
a large cave, part of which was on land and part 
over the water. Captain Danforth then took us 
ashore in the rowboat that had trailed astern of us. 

While the bacon was cooking over a fire that the 
Doctor made, Mary, Dave, and Trix wandered back 
on a trail that led up from the cave into a canon. 
They were gone some time, and lunch was ready and 
I beginning to get troubled before they returned. 
Finally we heard cries of joyous excitement, and 
they rushed down into the cave, Dave first, with 
Mary helping Trix in the rear. 

“Oh, Dad, we found a wonderful cave,” cried 
Mary. “We followed the trail till it started up a 
very high place and we decided not to take it. So 
we struck off on a sort of ledge, and by and by we 
found a split in the rocks. We looked through this 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 83 

and found there was a big cave below us. It was 
pretty dark, so that we could only faintly see things. 
But there must have been some water and some land 
from the sound of it. And, oh, Dad, we do want 
to explore it from the water side. It looked awfully 
big and spooky.” 

“Maybe it was the Painted Cave,” suggested the 
Doctor. 

“Which direction is that in?” asked Dave. 

“There has never been an opening found to that,” 
observed Captain Danforth. 

“Let’s have our lunch first, anyway,” I said. 

“We tied a handkerchief to a rock on'top so we’d 
know it from the water,” said Dave. 

“You’ll never see that from the water below,” 
laughed Danforth. “Why, those rocks some of 
them are fifteen hundred feet from the water.” 

When the last crumb was eaten, Mary and Dave 
wanted to take the rowboat and explore. But the 
Doctor insisted that the Painted Cave should be 
seen first. 

“Can we all go in the boat at one time?” he asked 
the Captain. 

“Sure, the children don’t take up much room,” 
was the reply. 

So we rowed north along the coast till we came 
to a great arched rock, the entrance to the cave. 
The place was huge, and the walls apparently 
painted by some giant hand in yellows, reds and 
browns, and other colors. 

“Mother, who did it?” cried Dave. “Isn’t that 
beautiful?” 


84 Mary in California 

“The salt in the water did it/’ said the Doctor. 
“I don’t know just why it does it here and nowhere 
else in these coast caves of Santa Cruz. It cer- 
tainly is wonderful. But I had always heard there 
were strange noises too.” 

“Wait till you get into the back cave,” said Cap- 
tain Danforth. “You are sure the kids won’t be 
scared?” he added. 

“What would scare them?” asked the Doctor. 

“Well, the noises and the dark and the sea lions 
in there. Of course there’s nothing that would really 
hurt them. But it’s sort of jumpy.” 

“What do you say, Trix, will you be scared?” 

“I want to go,” answered Trix emphatically. 

At the back of the cave was a black hole at 
the edge of the water that seemed to be about the 
size of the boat we were in. When a large wave 
rolled into the cave, the hole would be completely 
hidden. But during the few moments between 
the bigger waves the Captain pushed our boat 
quickly through the hole and in a moment we were 
in absolute darkness except for the spot of light 
that marked our place of entrance. We were 
greeted, too, by terrifying moans and shrieks and 
wails. 

Trix clung to me, and I felt that she should not 
have come. But in a moment Captain Danforth held 
aloft a great flaming torch, while the Doctor called 
“Good morning,” in a loud voice, that echoed and 
reechoed about us. 

“No one knows how deep it is here,” remarked 
Danforth. “It’s about one hundred feet high.” 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 85 

“What are the noises?” asked Dave in rather a 
small voice. 

“It’s the water echoing in the caves,” replied his 
father. “There are lots of small caves and entrances 
that we cannot see, but through which the waves hiss 
and roar. It certainly is a queer place. Look at 
those sea lions.” 

For our torch had startled some of these great 
beasts, who floundered about in the water and spread 
fiery sparkles of phosphorescence as they swam 
about. 

“Let’s go back,” said Mary. “It’s awfully 
spooky.” 

“What if the waves filled the entrance forever and 
we couldn’t get out?” asked Dave, as a great mass 
of water covered up the light which marked the 
place where we had come in. 

“It couldn’t, on a calm day like this,” said Dan- 
forth. “But if you are ready to go, this is a good 
chance.” 

“Let’s go now,” cried Trix. 

So our skipper pushed out after the retreating 
wave, and we were out in the sunlight and beauty of 
the outer cave again. 

“I didn’t like it in there,” said Trix, who looked 
rather pale. 

“Now can we find our cave?” asked Mary. 

“What do you want to do?” said her father. 

“Why, won’t you come with Dave and me till we 
find the place we saw this morning? We can go 
in the rowboat while Mother and Trix fix up the 
lunch things and wait for us. We won’t be long.” 


86 


Mary in California 

“All right, but we must hurry. When do we have 
to start back, Skipper?” 

“We ought to start about three-thirty,” was the 
answer. 

“Well, it’s not quite three now, so let’s go at 
once.” 

Captain Danforth landed with Trix and me, and 
the three others went off in the boat, much to Trix’s 
disgust, although she seemed to have had enough 
of caves for the present. 

Danforth seemed to be uneasy, and the later it 
got the more he fidgeted about and wondered where 
the others were. 

“Surely nothing can have happened to them,” I 
said. 

“You never can tell,” he answered gloomily, and 
Trix kept saying “I wish they would come,” or 
“Why doesn’t Dave come and play with me?” 

It was nearly four when we heard a call and the 
sound of oars. 

“Here they come,” cried Trix. 

Sure enough, the boat appeared at the entrance. 

“Oh, Mother,” cried Dave, “we found the cave 
and we found a wounded man too!” 

“What do you mean?” I asked. 

“He’d fainted and Dad fixed him up. He was in 
the cave,” said Dave. 

“And he had a cord around his neck like mine, 
red and black,” cried Mary. 

“Hush, children, don’t talk too much,” said the 
Doctor sharply. 

The next moment he brought the boat ashore. In 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 87 

the bottom lay the motionless form of a man, in a 
sort of uniform, hatless. The face was white and 
rather clean cut. 

Danforth examined him with us. Round the neck 
was a red and black cord. 

“Where is he hurt?” I asked, while Trix said, “Is 
he killed, Dad?” 

“He seems to have a fractured skull,” answered 
the Doctor, “and to be in rather bad shape. I must 
get him back as soon as possible to Santa Barbara, 
so we had best start right off, Skipper.” 

“Who do you think it is?” asked Mary. 

“I imagine it’s a revenue officer of some sort,” 
said the Doctor, watching Captain Danforth keenly 
as he spoke. 

The Captain was busy helping, and if he felt any 
surprise, did not show it. He helped the Doctor get 
the wounded man aboard the launch, and then came 
back for us, leaving the Doctor to work over his 
patient. In a very short time the anchor was up 
and we had started. The launch belonging to the 
fishermen was nowhere to be seen. 

“I would like to have asked them about this fel- 
low,” observed Danforth. “I think I ought to. 
They’ll be wanting to know all about it at Santa 
Barbara, I reckon.” 

“I think we can make our own report,” said the 
Doctor, rather sharply. 

We sped along, but the Captain seemed uneasy. 
He poked around the machinery and finally examined 
the gasoline tank. 

“I am afraid we had better put back,” he said. 


88 


Mary in California 

“I’m almost out of gasoline. There must be a 
leak. Those fellows on the other boat will lend me 
some.” 

The Doctor stood up. “Listen to me, my man,” he 
said in a cool tone. “You have plenty of gas, and 
you don’t need to go back. In fact, you will get us 
to Santa Barbara in record time or I’ll know the 
reason why. I can run a boat myself, if necessary, 
and I have a little argument in my pocket here which 
I don’t want to use except in the last resort.” 

The Captain scowled, but made no reply. Again 
we sped on. 

Suddenly the wounded man lifted up his head, and 
muttered, “Did you get him? The Chinaman?” 
Then he half opened his eyes. “Where am I?” he 
asked. 

“You are in the hands of a doctor, who orders 
you to keep still,” was the answer. 

The eyes closed and the man sank back. 

So we rushed through the blue water, Mary, 
Dave, Trix, and I in the bow of the boat, and Cap- 
tain Danforth in the stern. The Doctor sat in the 
center, with one eye on the wounded man and the 
other on the skipper, while he held under his coat 
the pistol I remembered now to have urged his buy- 
ing before we left Boston. 

It was a swift trip, but it seemed like hours. Cap- 
tain Danforth apparently had no thought but to bring 
us safely to shore. The wounded man did not stir. 
But Trix was full of questions and wanted to know 
again and again about the finding of the revenue 
officer. 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 89 

“We had rowed for some little time along the 
rocky coast, broken up by canons and caves,” began 
her father. “Finally we came to a place that Mary 
said might be the one they had looked down at. We 
rowed part way in and then found rocks, as usual. 
The cave seemed unusually narrow and long, but we 
could see a shaft of light in the back, possibly the 
opening found by Dave and Mary. Dave wanted to 
get out, so he took off his shoes and stockings and 
crawled along on the rocks till he got to shore. 
Presently he called out that he had found something, 
and would I bring a light. I managed to get in 
nearer and followed him with my flash light. 

“Way back in the cave, which opened out into a 
large space, was this revenue officer, lying near the 
blackened sticks of an old camp fire. There were 
some bottles and things about. I gave the man a 
rapid examination, found he had no bullet wounds 
on him, and guessed the thing had been done by a 
blow from the back, as his head was badly hurt. He 
was alive though, breathing heavily. Around his 
neck was the cord, and when I loosened it he 
breathed more easily. We had a hard time getting 
him to the boat, but we did, and here we are taking 
him to Santa Barbara as quickly as possible. 

“Now, Trix, don’t ask any more questions.” 

“Will you have to stay on and give your testimony 
to the police?” I asked. 

“I hope that can be done to-night,” was the brief 
reply. “I want to mix in as little as possible.” 

“But the men who did this ought to be punished,” 
said Mary indignantly. 


90 


Mary in California 

“I am sure I hope they will be.” 

Our arrival at Santa Barbara created great excite- 
ment. The Doctor bade us take a taxi out to the 
hotel, where he would join us as soon as possible. 

“I shall take Dave, because he found the man,” 
he added. 

He had paid off Captain Danforth, without a 
word on either side. As we got into our taxi we saw 
the skipper put to sea again, with a wave of his hand. 

“He seems to have plenty of gasoline,” said 
Mary, as we drove off. 

It was almost dark by the time we reached the 
hotel, lying among the tall trees, its friendly lights 
shining to welcome us. We were all hungry and ate 
a substantial supper, and then retired to our rooms. 
Trix was so tired that she went to bed, where she 
lay contentedly, while Mary read “Raggedy Ann” 
aloud to her. The day had been an exciting one 
indeed for such a child. Even I found “Raggedy 
Ann” soothing and a pleasant change. 

Finally Mary, protesting and indignant, also re- 
tired, after several games of double canfield. At 
about ten we heard the voices of Dave and the 
Doctor. We sat down in my room, Mary joining us 
in her wrapper, to hear the story of the night’s 
adventure. 

“But first of all have you had supper?” Mary 
asked. 

“Yes, indeed, in one of the swellest hotels in Santa 
Barbara. Oh, Yum ! They had wonderful things,” 
cried Dave. 

“Now tell us what happened,” I said. 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 91 

‘‘Well, a policeman got an ambulance for us. He 
recognized the man as a revenue officer who had 
been working along the coast trying to get some 
bootleggers and smugglers of Chinese. It seems 
they come in through Mexico, and are brought up 
by fishing boats to these islands.” 

“Oh, Dad, the sea-lion boat!” cried Mary. 

“Exactly so! And I shrewdly suspect our friend 
Captain Danforth knows more about it than he was 
telling. At any rate, we took the man to a hospital, 
for if I am right, it will be quite a while before the 
poor fellow tells any story himself, if he ever does. 
That was a nasty crack on the head. Then we went 
to the police station, where I told my story, aided 
by Dave. It was all taken down in good order, in- 
cluding my suggestion that those fellows we had 
seen that day might need watching. I told them of 
Captain Danforth’s rapid departure also, and they 
said they had had their eye on him for a long time. 

“Then they put us up at a hotel for supper, and 
here we are. We can go to-morrow, provided I re- 
turn, if necessary, later. Now, Mary and Dave, go 
right to bed and lock and bolt your doors lest the 
Bogyman get you.” 

After some little discussion the children retired, 
but I fear they stayed awake for a while. 

“This is a great life for children to lead,” I said. 
“Can’t we ever settle down to a peaceful existence 
like other people?” 

“I really am getting superstitious,” answered the 
Doctor. “I believe that until we lose Mary’s ring, 
we will live in an atmosphere of adventure. I asked 


92 Mary in California 

the police officer about the red and black cord, and 
he told me a bit more about it. It is the insignia of 
a secret society, down on foreigners and just now 
especially anti-Japanese. It is very old, and has its 
greatest strength in China itself. But naturally 
some of its spies and scouts have to go about in 
other countries. They come in via Mexico and, 
apparently, the Channel Islands. Just now 
smugglers are bringing in whiskey and spirits from 
Mexico, so that the two help each other. 

“This revenue officer, Brown, has been on the 
track of the Chinese business for some time. He 
had been hanging around the island of Santa Cruz 
until he came to grief; how, he will have to tell us 
himself. It is the custom of this Chinese society to 
decorate its victims with the red and black cord, 
which is also worn by the members who are chosen 
to kill certain enemies. 

“I asked the Chief whether he knew of any ring 
being mixed up in it. He told me that he had heard 
vague rumors from one of their Chinese revenue offi- 
cers. The totem, or symbol of the society, is a 
curious winged beast, something like the one, .1 
imagine, on Mary’s ring. The story is that during 
some foreign invasion of China, the royal princess 
was borne away from danger by a winged creature, I 
suppose a sort of dragon, and carried to a high 
mountain. Whereupon a flood descended and wiped 
out a lot of the invaders. The land was repeopled 
by the sons of the dragon and the princess. 

“The head of this secret society therefore wears 
a ring to symbolize the marriage of the dragon and 


Smugglers on the Channel Islands 93 

the princess, and the red and black cord indicates 
death to foreigners. It seems that long, long ago, 
when another invasion took place, some of the flee- 
ing Chinese passed over a western sea and brought 
the ring to a far country, where it disappeared. So 
another ring was made, and carefully preserved and 
handed down from leader to leader. But it is death 
for any but the leader to wear the ring. 

“Now, my dear, my vote is that Mary’s ring be 
consigned to perdition. There may be nothing but 
nonsense in this long yarn, and we are in modern 
America and not ancient China. Nevertheless, it 
should go, I think.” 

“Let us put it in the bank in Frisco,” I answered. 
“If there is any truth at all in the story, the ring 
must be ‘immensely old and valuable to antiquarians. 
But I agree with you that the sooner it is out of our 
hands, the better. Do you suppose some one really 
came into the children’s room last night?” 

“I don’t know, my dear. But I shall leave our 
connecting doors open and run no chances. I have 
an idea that Danforth owes me a grudge for this 
day’s work. I will be glad to get away from here in 
the morning.” 


CHAPTER VII 


OVER THE TRAIL OF THE PADRES TO MILLS COLLEGE 

TP HAT night the Doctor made several trips from 
one sleeping room to another to be sure that 
all was well. The moon cast soft, mysterious 
shadows through the windows and the great trees 
whispered strangely in the breeze outside. The 
Doctor was gone longer than usual the third time, 
and when he finally returned said that he thought 
he had heard a noise at one of the windows. He had 
waited and watched, but nothing more could be seen 
or heard. Finally, as the first light of early dawn 
began to cheer us, we fell into a deep sleep, and 
would have missed breakfast and train both had not 
Trix awakened us. 

Dressing and packing were hurriedly attended to, 
and presently we were saying good-by to Santa 
Barbara. 

“I wish we could have driven up among those 
beautiful Santa Inez hills/’ said the Doctor, as we 
made ourselves comfortable in the train. “I love the 
brown slopes with the oaks clinging to them. I al- 
most wish we had taken time to motor up ‘the King’s 
Road,’ which follows the trails of the padres of old. 
It winds in and out by the sea, among the hills, and 
touches the various missions. It would not take 
94 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College 95 

long, now in these fast cars, though it took the 
padres a day’s journey from one mission to an- 
other.” 

“Well, one cannot do everything. I certainly am 
not sorry to get away from the neighborhood of 
Captain Danforth and that spooky hotel.” 

“Daddy,” asked Mary, “where is Death Valley? 
Did we pass it on our way here?” 

“No, it was to the north of the Santa Fe route. 
They tell me it is a horrible, desolate place.” 

“Why is it called ‘Death Valley’?” asked Dave. 

“That’s a fairly long story,” answered his father. 
“It belongs to the early days of California. Not, of 
course, to the time of the Spanish missions. But to 
the days of the pioneers. 

“You have seen the old prairie schooners. Picture 
to yourselves a party setting out with their ox teams 
attached to the great unwieldy wagons. Some of 
the men probably rode, the others walked. The 
women and children drove in the wagons or walked. 

“The particular pioneers who gave Death Valley 
its name were themselves nameless. But they 
started out from some Utah settlement, perhaps 
from farther east, to go to California, then the true 
Promised Land. They got into the valley and lost 
all traces of those who had gone before. Nothing 
but sand lay before them, and the hazy blue moun- 
tains beyond. It was in August, and even hardened 
scouts hate to try that valley in summer. 

“They had no extra supply of water, for they did 
not know how terrible was this particular desert. 
They tell me that men can only survive in this place 


9 6 Mary in California 

by drinking gallons of water during the heat of the 
day, when the sand fairly burns like coals under your 
feet. These poor people traveled over part of the 
valley, and then perished miserably of thirst. Their 
bones were found strewed about the wrecks of the 
wagons, with the carcasses of their faithful animals 
beside them. Not one survived, I believe, and who 
they were no one knows. But Death Valley is the 
name of that terrible place ever since.” 

“Why did people want so much to go to Cali- 
fornia? I mean, what made them brave all those 
dangers?” asked Mary. 

“Different reasons. And of course you must re- 
member that they did not always know what lay 
ahead of them. They came, too, from hard frontier 
life and were used to dangers and rough work. 

“At first came the homesteaders, the people who 
were looking for lands to cultivate. They had 
heard of the beautiful fertile country in the west, 
where cultivation was easy and things grew almost 
of themselves. The next people were the gold 
seekers of ’49. You don’t need to be told why they 
came. But I think I have told enough for the 
present. I want to look out at these brown hills 
we are climbing and say good-by to this part of the 
Pacific. We shan’t see it again till we go out on the 
west side of San Francisco, which may be some time 
ahead.” 

But Trix did not feel interested in any more 
scenery, and she begged for a game. So while the 
Doctor and I looked out of the window, Dave and 
Trix were soon quarreling over “Parchisi” and Mary 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College 97 

deeply engrossed in ‘‘Ramona/’ that appealing story 
of Indian life. 

“I wonder if they ever will catch those fellows 
who half killed the revenue officer,” said the Doctor 
in a low voice. “Unless they reach Santa Cruz be- 
fore Captain Danforth, I don’t believe they will 
find anything this trip. I am convinced that our 
Cape Cod skipper knew considerable about what was 
going on in the islands. I certainly hope I shan’t 
have to go back and testify. It surely will be good 
to settle down to work at Oakland and not have 
sightseeing and hairbreadth escapes the order of 
the day.” 

“We may find it a bit hard to keep house in a 
strange place for such a short time,” I sajd. 

“Yes, but we are lucky to have a house at all, 
they tell me. Fortunately one of the faculty is on a 
vacation and has consented to our using his place. 
How will you like Chinese help? For I suppose 
there will be no other available.” 

“Oh, Daddy, will we really have a Chinaman to 
be our cook?” asked Trix, who always called any 
household help a “cook.” 

“Yes, my dear, and he will probably be like Chan 
Wang. Do you remember? 

“ ‘He stole his mother’s pickled mice, 

And threw the cat in the boiling rice, 

And when they’d eaten her, said he, 

“Me wonders where that mew-cat be.” ’ ” 


“Now, Dad, we won’t have to eat cats and mice,” 
said Dave. 


“Cats and mice, cats and mice,” echoed Trix. 

“No,” I said firmly. “As long as I am in com- 
mand there will be no mice eaten except by the cat, 
and no cats eaten at all !” 

All that afternoon we traveled through rolling 
country, with the quiet brown hills to the west of us 
and cultivated lands all about us. Fruit trees were 
everywhere, their branches hanging low with the 
weight of plums, peaches, or apricots. 

“I wish we were in the grape country,” said Dave. 
“I’d like to go out and sit under a vine and eat and 
eat and eat.” 

Toward evening we reached our destination, and 
got out at a branch station on the outer edge of Oak- 
land. Here we were met by an automobile and 
whisked through the streets out into the country, 
with its brown hills, its dull-colored grass, and its 
huge blue-green eucalyptus trees. 

The house we were to occupy lay on a little hill 
back of the college. We found Miss Flaxman, a 
member of the faculty, waiting to welcome us, the 
dining-room table set and dinner hot on the stove. 

“Why, it’s like coming home!” said Mary. 

“That is just what we wished you to feel,” said 
Miss Flaxman. “Will you be too tired, Doctor, to 
go to the college to-night? It’s only a step. One of 
us will come up to guide you.” 

“Surely; I want to begin right away to learn about 
my work,” was the answer. 

“Then some one will come for you at about seven. 
But you are sure you will not need to rest to-night? 
And perhaps your wife will want some help?” 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College 99 

“No, indeed,” I answered. “We will not try to 
unpack, but just go to bed early. To-morrow I shall 
want to learn a lot of things, about housekeeping and 
so forth.” 

“The President had everything sent in that you 
would need for breakfast, I think. She keeps house, 
you see, and has children. Most of the rest of us 
live in dormitories. Well, I won’t keep you now. 
But we will see lots of each other later, I hope.” 
Then Miss Flaxman took her departure, and we 
started to explore. 

The house seemed to be a pleasant, comfortable 
one, with plants in many of the windows. There was 
a roomy porch from which we could look down over 
the college grounds and the road winding between its 
rows of tall eucalyptus trees. Mysterious they were, 
with their long drooping leaves and their strange 
musky smell of the East. 

“Oh, Dad, I suppose we’ll never see you again 
now. You’ll be working all the time,” remarked 
Mary. 

“I think we will have a few more good times to- 
gether,” he laughed. “But I am glad to get back to 
work. I wonder when my lectures will begin. Col- 
lege commenced yesterday, I believe.” 

“Will there be any children for me to play with?” 
questioned Trix. 

“Where will I go to school?” asked Mary. 

“I shall make many inquiries to-night,” was the 
reply. “But I expect to take Dave down to a fine 
open-air boarding school the first chance I get, which 
will probably be next Saturday.” 


ioo Mary in California 

“Oh, Dad, have I got to go to boarding school?” 
Dave asked. 

“Yes siree. You don’t suppose you are going to 
hang around here all the time, do you?” 

“I thought I could go to the public school, with 
Mary.” 

“I think boarding school is best,” his father 
answered. 

At seven the bell rang. Mary ran to answer it, 
with Trix and Dave following closely, and we heard 
cries of joy and enthusiasm as the newcomer was 
greeted. 

“Oh, Mother, it’s Winifred Ransome,” called 
Mary. 

We were all genuinely glad to meet again the tall, 
dark-haired young girl of twenty-three who entered 
with Dave and Trix each clinging to an arm. We 
had known her well in a summer camping-out in 
New Mexico, but had been more familiar with her 
in riding clothes. Indeed, I hardly recognized her 
now in her crisp blue dimity dress. 

“I had forgotten you were here,” said the Doc- 
tor. “It certainly is fine to see you. How are they 
all at home?” 

“I am a senior this year,” replied the girl. “The 
family are well, and sent their love. It is so nice to 
see you all again.” 

“Did you come up to be my escort?” asked the 
Doctor. 

“I did indeed. It will seem like old picnics in 
New Mexico to be acting as guide. I am going to 
all your lectures, too, Doctor.” 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College ioi 

“That is an awful thought. Then maybe you can 
tell me when I am to begin.” 

“To-morrow, fourth hour. I have been spread- 
ing your fame.” 

“Let us start down now. I am anxious to meet 
the President, and see where I am to work. Good- 
by, everybody, I’ll be back before you miss me.” 
So the Doctor departed with Winifred. 

We all worked together over the dishes, which, 
as Mary remarked, had been economically used as 
far as numbers were concerned. Camping out cer- 
tainly teaches how few dishes are really necessary. 
One by one we went to bed, some protesting and 
some eager to get there. 

When the Doctor came in about ten o’clock he 
was full of enthusiasm for the campus. He de- 
scribed the wonderful old “live oaks” and the pic- 
turesque eucalyptus trees, and the gardens. 

“You will all love it,” he said. “And the Presi- 
dent is so delightful and cordial. I know you will 
enjoy the life here so much you will want to stay 
after our time is up.” 

“I don’t know about that,” I replied sleepily. 
“But I know my time is up for being awake.” 

So presently all were at rest in the house except 
the cereal, which continued cooking in the fireless 
cooker. 

“It seems so strange to wake up in somebody else’s 
bed, in somebody else’s house, and cook at somebody 
else’s stove,” remarked Mary at breakfast. “I think 
it’s going to be lots of fun, though. When do I 
start school?” 


102 


Mary in California 

“The schools have begun already,” answered her 
father. “But I have arranged for you to start to- 
morrow with the daughter of one of the faculty. 
The high school in Oakland is very fine, I am 
told. But you will have to be up betimes to get 
there.” 

“Now if we only had an aeroplane,” observed 
Dave. “What fun it would be just to scoot to 
school. You know they have gliders now. Wouldn’t 
it be great fun to get one? Boys can use them.” 

“Yes, and tumble out of them, too!” exclaimed 
Mary. “They are quite dangerous, aren’t they, 
Daddy?” 

“If I were like the old Quaker I would respond, 
‘Friend, first thee telleth a lie and then thee asketh 
a question.’ I don’t believe there have been so many 
accidents with gliders. They use them a great deal 
in Germany,” answered her father. “Who wants 
to go down with me and see the campus? I have 
my first lecture at about eleven. But before that 
I would be glad to personally conduct people. 
This afternoon we are to meet some of the 
faculty.” 

“All of us, me too?” cried Trix. 

“I think there are some children for you and 
Dave. Mary is to be introduced to the high-school 
girl whose name I cannot remember. Your mother 
and I are to meet some of the faculty. You don’t 
need to worry about clothes, even if our trunks don’t 
come this morning,” he added. “Every one will be 
in working togs.” 

“If we are all to go down this afternoon perhaps 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College 103 

we had best stay at home this morning and settle. 
I suppose you haven’t heard of any domestics, have 
you?” I asked. 

“I made some inquiries. It rests between an aged 
white female who is something of a character, the 
mother of one of the gardeners, or a Chinaman. I 
must say I think the latter would be more fun. He 
would go home nights, of course.” 

“I’d like to see just how much of a character the 
lady is,” was my reply. 

After the breakfast dishes were washed Trix 
and Dave departed with their father, while Mary 
and I investigated the house and its possibilities. 
Before we were through making the beds, the trunks 
arrived, which delighted us both. 

“Oh, I’ll be so glad to get some fresh things to 
put on,” was Mary’s exclamation. “I am so sick of 
traveling things.” 

We were in the midst of unpacking when Mary 
said, “Mother, what will we have for lunch? We’ve 
gotten so used to going to the dining car that we’ve 
forgotten about planning for meals, I guess.” 

At that moment the telephone rang and Mary 
ran to answer it. Somehow this made us feel very 
much at home, to have a telephone of our own. It 
was the Doctor speaking. He suggested that we had 
better lunch at the college and then talk over sup- 
plies and how to get them. 

“Chapel service is at twelve, just before lunch. 
Why don’t you come down to that? Dave and Trix 
will show you the way to the hall where it is held. 
I will join you there and we can all go to lunch 


104 Mary in California 

together. The President will be glad if we sit at 
her table.” 

This sounded pleasant, and so it was agreed. At 
about half past eleven Trix and Dave appeared, very 
dirty as to clothes and faces and hands. 

“It’s lucky the trunks came,” observed Mary. 

In a wonderfully short time, however, we were 
all clean and properly clad. 

“We must hurry, Mother,” said Dave. “It’s a 
long way.” 

So we hurried down the hill and through the 
back entrance to the college grounds where the car- 
penter shops were and the cows and chickens. There 
were flowers everywhere, in spite of the lateness of 
the season, and beautifully kept grass plots, a re- 
freshing sight to us who were used to the green 
summers of the East. We passed many buildings 
which Trix tried to name for us, but Dave insisted 
that we hurry, hurry. There were pine trees, and 
tall eucalyptus trees, their trunks strangely colored 
in pinks and yellows and blues. And in front of 
Lisser Hall, with its white columns, were great 
palms. But most of all I loved the live oaks, with 
their delicate foliage and great gnarled and twisted 
stems. 

The Doctor met us at the door of the hall and 
took us up to the gallery. It was a pretty sight to 
see all the young girls in their bright summer dresses. 

“It looks like a stained glass window,” said Mary. 

The services were conducted by the President, 
and so short that even Trix was quiet and attentive. 
Then we walked back through the long, straight 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College 105 

eucalyptus path that led to the dormitory where we 
were to have our dinner. In the heat of the day the 
smell of the trees suggested all sorts of strange 
oriental perfumes. 

“The eucalyptus tree did not always grow in Cali- 
fornia,” the President told us. “The seeds were 
brought here from Australia by William Taylor for 
his wife in 1863. But they certainly take kindly to 
this soil. And we Californians love them.” 

“I don’t wonder,” said Mary. “The colors are 
so pretty and queer.” 

The private dining room where we ate at the 
President’s table was back from the main room, but 
was not so far removed that we could not hear the 
chatter of the girls and their singing. For it was the 
custom to sing many songs while eating, or as Dave 
said, “between eating.” Two Chinamen waited on 
the table. 

Trix had been placed next to the President’s two 
small boys, one of them her age, the other older. A 
sudden feeling of shyness had come over her, and 
she hardly spoke. At first she would hardly eat 
either. 

Presently Dave said in a loud whisper, “Trix 
thinks it’s cats and mice, so she won’t eat anything.” 
At which there was a general laugh. 

The President assured her that it was chicken and 
rice, and at last she began to eat. 

After lunch Dave and the three younger children 
disappeared. Mary was to stay with us until the 
end of high school brought home her schoolmate 
to be. 


10 6 Mary in California 

“Isn’t the parlor beautiful?” Mary whispered to 
me as we stood and chatted for a few minutes. “I 
love the red wood of the walls and that great black 
vase with the chrysanthemums in it. And just look 
at the pieces of Chinese embroidery. It is like a 
place in a story book. But, Mother, don’t have a 
Chinaman for a cook. I’d rather have a woman. 
They sort of scare me.” 

“I think a woman would be better, too,” I 
answered. 

Miss Flaxman, who lived in that dormitory, 
offered to take us up to the lake, so we wandered 
out into the bright sunshine. The lake was a 
little distance away and surrounded by eucalyptus 
trees. 

“What makes it such a curious color?” asked 
Mary. “It’s a sort of robin’s-egg blue.” 

“I believe some copper runs into it and colors the 
water,” answered Miss Flaxman. The girls use it 
for swimming and picnics and fetes. They have 
their commencement pageants here. 

“Usually the lake is not full enough in the fall to 
make it really effective as a stage setting. But we 
have had so many early rains that they are going to 
repeat a pageant in November that was given in the 
spring. It is so full of the spirit of California that 
the girls begged to be allowed to give it for the 
benefit of some Oxford visitors who are to be with us 
then. It will take the place of our usual autumn 
Shakespeare play which is produced in the Open 
Air Theater. Your friend Winifred Ransome is to 
be one of the chief characters.” 


I 



THE GIRLS USE IT FOR SWIMMING AND PICNICS AND FETES 













GREAT CLIFFS AND THE LONG SANDY BEACH BELOW 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College 107 

“Oh, I am so glad,” said Mary. “What fun it 
will be to see her act.” 

“She is quite talented,” answered Miss Flaxman. 

We went back through that part of the garden 
which was set aside for the use of the girls. 

“They like to have flowers in their rooms, and 
can get them in this place,” explained Miss Flaxman. 
“If they picked them all over it would soon spoil the 
looks of the grounds. But here they can cut them to 
their hearts’ content, and have to bear the responsi- 
bility themselves if any plants are broken or 
crushed.” 

Later that afternoon we met many of the faculty 
and Mary was introduced to Cynthia Farrell, the 
daughter of the professor of mathematics. The 
two went off together to make better acquaint- 
ance in the gymnasium, while I discussed housekeep- 
ing with Mrs. Farrell. 

As a result of this talk, the “Character” came to 
see us next morning. She was an old German 
woman, very friendly, quite deaf and a little un- 
certain of her English. But she was spotlessly clean 
and agreed to do all our work. 

“Of course I vill not can make the beds if I do the 
vashing. And you vill set the table, yes? The little 
vun, she vill help old Maria, hein? Und old Maria 
vill gif her little cakes and grapes und sweeties.” 

So old Maria was engaged, articles were signed, 
as the Doctor put it, and we on our parts agreed to 
take our midday meals at the college or elsewhere, 
so that old Maria could go about her slow but 
thorough business. 


io8 


Mary in California 

“Mother, that’s the tenth time she has dusted 
that chair, and I haven’t had my cereal yet,” Dave 
complained. 

“My dear, Maria has oiled that floor till my 
shoes won’t stay where I put them when I take them 
off. They go sliding about of themselves,” said the 
Doctor. 

“Mother, won’t you tell Maria not to take all my 
books and papers off the desk and put them into my 
top bureau drawer?” Mary cried disgustedly. 

But the clothes that Maria washed were always 
spotless, and the dishes were never broken and the 
pots and pans shone and the glasses sparkled. So I 
bade all have patience. 

“Trix has never been so clean in her life,” re- 
marked Mary. 

“I hate Maria,” said Trix. “She is always wash- 
ing me.” 

“Yes, but she gives you all the fruit in the house 
and buys you candy, too,” exclaimed Mary. “You 
ought to love her.” 

“You get a few goodies yourself, Mary,” ob- 
served the Doctor. “And now I feel as though we 
were settled. But I will miss Dave when we take 
him to school to-morrow.” 

The conversation just recorded took place three 
days after our arrival. 

“What time do we start?” 

“Early , — muy pronto , as our Mexican friends 
would say. I hope Maria will make us a good lunch 
to take.” 

“Humpf ! Maria! Mother and I will make the 


Over the Trail of the Padres to Mills College 109 

lunch. Maria would have to stop and wash the 
knife between each sandwich,” remarked Mary. 

So the next morning we started bright and early, 
leaving Trix behind with Tom and Jack, her new 
friends. Mr. and Mrs. Farrell took us all in their 
big car. 

It was a long, beautiful drive through the hills and 
valleys. We stopped from time to time at wayside 
stands where tempting apricots and peaches were 
for sale. We saw the prunes lying out in the fields 
to dry, just as Mrs. Norton had described them. 

The school lay high in the hills, and Dave was 
greatly excited to find that the boys themselves had 
put up some of the buildings. There was a deep pool 
out-of-doors for swimming, and in another place a 
pond among the trees made a delightful natural 
theater. So we left Dave, happy but a little lone- 
some, and returned by another road, along the coast, 
part of the way, where the great green waves came 
tumbling over the sand or broke against the rocks, 
and so back over part of the Lincoln Highway, 
whose other end begins in the south in far-away 
Washington. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE RING CAUSES EXCITEMENT — WE VISIT SAN 
FRANCISCO 

M OTHER, can’t I be in the pageant? Winifred 
wants me to, and Miss Flaxman says I can, 
and Cynthia is going to be.” Thus Mary pleaded 
with her parent. 

“What will it mean as far as rehearsals are con- 
cerned, and when will the performance be ?” 

“The rehearsals are at different times, but we 
won’t have to go to them all. You see, we are just 
chorus. It’s an historical pageant, and the per- 
formance will be on a Saturday afternoon.” 

“I don’t see any good reason, then, for your not 
being in it,” I answered. 

“Hurrah! May I ’phone Cynthia right away? 
Or better still, can’t I go down to her house?” 

“I think it’s pretty late,” I answered, “and I don’t 
want you wandering about after dark.” 

“It won’t be dark for an hour yet. Please let me. 
I’ll hurry home.” 

The Doctor was out, and I yielded. The Far- 
rells’ house was not very far away. 

Trix and I went out to pick some flowers in our 
garden, and fed the rabbits that we had inherited 
from our landlord. Finally Trix went to bed, and 
it began to grow dark in earnest. I wondered where 
no 


1 1 1 


The Ring Causes Excitement 

Mary was. I happened to go to my bureau drawer 
and found in it, tucked away at the back, the little 
box containing the Indian ring with the red and 
black cord. The ring was of silver except for a 
quaint jade animal, which might have represented a 
dragon with some stretch of the imagination. On 
the back was the familiar swastika, or good-luck 
sign. There was a large mirror over the bureau, 
and as I raised my head I saw the reflection of some- 
thing moving. I turned instantly. There was a 
window opposite and through that window some one 
had been looking. I was sure of it. 

My heart seemed to stand still for a minute. 
Then I ran to the open window and looked down. It 
was almost dark outside, and there were plenty of 
trees and shrubs below, so that a man might easily 
be hidden. There was no ladder, but a copper 
leader running from the roof to the ground was 
close enough so that an active man might have clung 
to it and looked in. Of course it might have been 
Mary at some prank. 

I called her name loudly two or three times, and 
presently heard a far-off response. I confess that 
I hated to go downstairs, where only one small light 
had been left burning. Maria had long ago retired, 
for she believed in the good old saying, “Early to 
bed and early to rise.” 

Two or three minutes afterward Mary rushed up 
to the door. Her face was quite white, and she was 
evidently excited. 

“Mother,” she said, “I saw El Lobo down in the 
eucalyptus grove. I know I did.” 


I 12 


Mary in California 

“But he died,” I objected. 

“Dave always said he didn’t, Mother. Anyway, 
I saw him ! He was not far from our house. My^ I 
was glad that Mr. Farrell came part way home with 
me. I just ran as fast as I could when I saw him. 
Don’t you suppose he’s after the ring? Where is it, 
anyway?” 

“It’s up in the bureau drawer,” I answered, lower- 
ing my voice. “But to-morrow it goes to San Fran- 
cisco, and I’ll take it myself.” 

The Doctor was inclined to laugh at our fears 
and at the possibility of El Lobo’s reappearance. 

“But I saw him, I know I did,” repeated Mary. 

I did not mention my own adventure until after she 
had gone to bed. 

“Whatever may or may not be the truth about 
El Lobo, that ring goes to Frisco to-morrow,” I 
said positively. 

“I am inclined to throw it out of the window,” the 
Doctor said. “Let El Lobo have it, if he wants it 
so much.” 

“We will take it to the bank to-morrow and 
then decide. I hate the idea of giving it up,” I 
answered. 

“Well, to-morrow be it then. We haven’t been to 
San Francisco yet, except when we drove home from 
Dave’s school. I have nothing particular to do after 
my lecture is over. Let’s go across the bay and do 
some sightseeing. We will have to start in time to 
get to a bank. I suppose we might have it in an 
Oakland bank, but I rather like the idea of having it 
at a distance.” 


The Ring Causes Excitement 113 

We did not go on the next day, however, for 
Mary begged us to wait until Saturday so that she 
might accompany us. But we all went down 
solemnly and deposited the ring in the college safe, 
so that at least it would be out of the house. 

Mary went to her first rehearsal that day, and 
came back full of enthusiasm. 

“Mother, the girls are all so nice. Winifred 
introduced me to a lot of them, and they were just as 
jolly as can be. They want me to take dinner at the 
college to-morrow, and may I ? Cynthia and I had 
such a good time.” 

“Tell us a little about the pageant,” said her 
father. 

“It’s about the Matilija Poppy, Daddy. It’s a 
sort of symbolic play. It has to do with the beauties 
of the Indian legends and civilization and then the 
coming of the Spanish fathers. There are lots of 
dances, flower dances, and it ends in the Dance of 
Death. It is sort of sad at the end. The Matilija 
Poppy means the Indians, and that is the last dance 
of all. The Mother of the Moon comes in, and her 
mists of the Dawn. It is so pretty, Mother. I am 
just crazy about it.” 

“What parts do you and Cynthia take in it?” I 
asked. 

“We’re yellow poppies. Winifred is the Indian 
hero. She is so handsome ! Our dresses are lovely 
yellow things. If only the warm soft weather holds 
good and the lake doesn’t dry up. Wouldn’t that be 
too cruel if it did and we had to do it in the Open 
Air Theater?” 


1 14 Mary in California 

“It’s pretty over there, too,” said her father. 
“But I suppose this was written for Lake Aliso.” 

“Yes, they gave it at commencement. One of the 
seniors wrote it. I just love it. And you ought to 
see the girls dance! They are so graceful and so 
beautifully trained.” 

“Which is the Matilija Poppy?” 

“The lovely white one that grows all over the 
hills. It is very delicate and graceful.” 

“Yes, I’ve seen them. They certainly are charm- 
ing,” I said. “We shall look forward to seeing the 
play. Anything given at Lake Aliso would be good 
to see. The eucalyptus trees overhanging it are so 
wonderful and the live-oak grove like nothing else 
that I know.” 

The next day was Friday and Mary took her eve- 
ning meal at Winifred Ransome’s table. 

“I will walk home with her,” the young senior 
had assured us, “but may she stay for a little while 
after dinner? We girls are going to have a fudge 
party. The moonlight is so bright, we shall enjoy 
the walk back in the evening.” 

It sounded delightful and Mary did not need to 
add any special pleading to gain consent. 

“Be good and don’t eat too much fudge, and be 
home by nine-thirty,” was our last admonition as 
the two went off together. 

“Don’t they look pretty?” the Doctor said. “Isn’t 
that a specially becoming dress of Mary’s? I like 
her bright green sash on that white dress. And how 
jolly Winifred looks in that pale pink with the Indian 
necklace.” 


The Ring Causes Excitement 115 

“I wish I didn’t have red hair, so I could wear 
pink,” said Trix. “I like pink.” 

“Bless the child, she’s growing up,” observed her 
father. “Never mind about clothes. Let’s go out 
and feed the rabbits with their pink eyes.” 

We found Maria out in the garden, gathering 
lettuce. 

“I haf just fed the bonies,” she called. “One of 
them is sick, I think. His hair is coming off on his 
back. Ven you go to San Francisco to-morrow, you 
buy me a box of Kootikoora. That is goot for the 
hair. Boney needs it.” 

“What does she mean?” whispered the Doctor, 
who was not quite as familiar as I with Maria’s mind 
and speech. 

“I expect she means Cuticura. I never heard of 
putting it on a rabbit, but I don’t know why not.” 

“All right, we’ll get you some to-morrow,” said 
the Doctor. 

We lingered about the rabbit cage watching the 
furry little creatures energetically eating their eve- 
ning meal or chasing each other about. The biggest 
one did seem to have lost some of his smooth coat. 

“Trix ought to go to bed,” I said lazily. But no 
one made any move in the direction of the house. 

Finally Maria departed, and we could hear her 
low-pitched voice singing, “Pack oop der troobles in 
der old kit pag und Schmile, Schmile, Schmile.” 

Far off the bell in the clock tower on the campus 
tolled forth the hour of eight. 

“Trix, come to bed this minute,” I said, and I 
turned and firmly walked toward the house. 


1 1 6 Mary in California 

“Daddy, can’t I stay a little longer? I don’t 
want to go to bed.” 

“You heard what your mother said,” answered 
her father. “I would like you to go right away.” 

So Trix and I went into the dark, silent house and 
up the dark, silent stairs. 

“You start getting undressed and I’ll come right 
in, Trix,” I said. “I have to get a handkerchief 
from my bureau.” 

I had a curious feeling when I lit the lamp in my 
room that I should find that something had hap- 
pened there. So for a minute I looked stupidly at 
my bureau without feeling surprised when I saw that 
the drawers had been pulled out and their contents 
thrown about the floor. 

“Trix, have you been in here?” I called. “Have 
you been at my bureau?” 

“Why, Mother, you know I haven’t,” came the 
answer in Trix’s high little voice. “I was out with 
you and the rabbits.” 

Then suddenly I began to be alarmed. Some one 
from outside had been in my room and I could not 
but remember what I had seen in the window a few 
days before. I said nothing more for fear of 
frightening Trix, but when she was in bed, I ran 
down to tell the Doctor. 

“Is anything missing?” was his first question. 

“Nothing,” I answered. “My purse with ten 
dollars in it was in the top drawer, and a diamond 
brooch was sticking in the pincushion.” 

“Then they are after the ring. I tell you, we’ve 
got to get rid of it. I will be glad to have it as far 


The Ring Causes Excitement 117 

as San Francisco. Only I am sorry for the bank that 
holds it. We had better report this to the superin- 
tendent to-morrow.” 

The evening seemed a long one, in spite of books 
and writing, and when half past nine finally came 
and brought no Mary, both the Doctor and I be- 
came uneasy and were quite ready to be angry when 
fifteen minutes later we heard light-hearted laughter 
and gay talk. Winifred and another student simply 
poked their heads in at the door to announce their 
presence, and then departed hastily in order to be 
in their dormitories before ten o’clock. 

“I hope I am not late, Dad,” cried Mary, all 
aglow with excitement. “We’ve had such a good 
time, and we had an adventure, too !” 

“What do you mean?” asked her father. 

“Well, we were in the old building, you know, 
where the offices are, and we had been having a 
glorious time, making fudge and the nicest melted 
cheese thing, and singing and all. I happened to 
look out of the window' — we were upstairs — and I 
saw a man trying to climb in on the main floor. It 
was the window of the office, and the room next the 
one where the safe is. Well, we had a dish full of 
boiling water to clean out the fudge kettle, and we 
emptied it on Mr. Burglar. You ought to have seen 
him run! We reported it at once and the men are 
out hunting for him. But wasn’t that exciting?” 

“Yes,” said the Doctor dryly. “I am glad to- 
morrow is the day your ring goes to San Francisco. 
I hope nobody will blame me if I drop it overboard 
from the ferryboat.” 


1 1 8 


Mary in California 

“Now, Dad, you simply couldn’t do that,” ex- 
claimed Mary. “I want my children’s children to 
see it and hear all about its adventures.” 

“Go to bed now, for we will want to get under 
way early to-morrow,” her father said. 

“Aren’t you people coming up?” 

“Yes, we are coming directly, but you go to bed 
at once.” 

So Mary reluctantly departed. 

The next morning at breakfast Trix announced 
that she had invited Jack and Tom to lunch. 

“But we are all going to San Francisco,” I 
said. 

“Nu, you vould not take the little von,” broke in 
Maria. “She should not go to the big dirty city. 
She vill stay here mit me und the two leetle boys 
vill come. Ve vill celebrate old Maria’s birthday 
und haf a party. Dis afternoon ve go take a ride 
in the boats on the lake in the park. Ve haf it all 
settled, hein Trixy?” 

“Yes, Mother, Jack and Tom are coming and we 
are going down to the lake with Maria and her 
family to ride in the boats. Can’t I, Mother? Say 
yes !” 

“Very well, dear. But stay with Maria. Don’t 
run off alone.” 

“Oh, goodie, goodie. May I ’phone to Jack and 
Tom now?” 

“Perhaps it would be better for me to do it,” I 
answered. 

When we started out at ten o’clock the three 
children waved a good-by from the piazza roof and 


The Ring Causes Excitement 119 

Maria’s last words were, “Please not forget the 
Kootikoora for boney.” 

It was about a mile to the express trolleys that 
were the quickest way to reach the San Francisco 
ferry. But the road had many pleasant residences 
and was shaded by trees most of the way. The 
Doctor had the precious box in his inside pocket. 

“It’s all perfectly absurd,” he said. “It’s like a 
movie. Why can’t I come out to the coast to lecture 
on hygiene and be a common tourist with his family? 
I certainly shall be glad to get rid of this ridiculous 
ring.” 

“By the way, it’s Saturday and the banks close 
at noon,” I remarked. 

“So they do ! But I think we can make it. I have 
forgotten just how long these ferries take.” 

It was our first real view of the great harbor, with 
San Francisco lying across the bay. The early morn- 
ing mists had been blown away and the blue of the 
sky sparkled in the water. A sea gull came and 
perched on our masthead. Indeed, there were plenty 
of these beautiful creatures flying about or fishing on 
the crest of a wave. One followed us like the far- 
famed albatross in the “Ancient Mariner.” 

“It doesn’t look as though that big city had ever 
been visited by fire and earthquake,” remarked the 
Doctor. 

“Was it, Dad? How long ago?” 

“About as many years ago as you are old.” 

“An earthquake must be awful,” said Mary. “I 
remember a picture in my old geography of the 
earthquake in Lisbon. But Daddy, Cynthia Farrell 


120 Mary in California 

said San Francisco was destroyed by a fire, not an 
earthquake.” 

“Hum, some one else told me that. Well, any- 
way, there certainly was a terrible fire, and the tele- 
phone lines all were broken and the electric lights 
went out and the water mains burst. The people 
found themselves without any shelter or water or 
light. It was certainly frightful. But they were 
plucky, and started right in rebuilding as soon as the 
first crisis was over. You can see for yourself that it 
looks as though there never had been any conflagra- 
tion. One good thing, too, was accomplished. Old 
Chinatown was destroyed, and the new one will 
never be as dirty or as dangerous.” 

“Or as interesting,” I added. “But I fancy the 
old one was a little too interesting sometimes.” 

“The police found it so, with its subterranean 
passageways and rooms and opium dens.” 

“Daddy, what fun. Isn’t there anything like that 
now?” 

“They tell me that the modern Chinese quarter 
is quite clean and sanitary and aboveboard. It 
seems to be full of shops. But I suppose there may 
be concealed places of great interest. I am afraid 
we won’t see them.” 

We were about halfway across the bay when the 
boat came to a sudden stop. Something had gone 
wrong with the machinery, and we were at a stand- 
still. The Doctor began to be troubled. 

“We haven’t any too much time,” he said. “If 
we stay here long, the banks will be closed before 
we get there. And this abominable box will remain 


1 2 I 


The Ring Causes Excitement 

with us for two more days. I declare, I believe 
I’ll drop it overboard.” He took the box out 
of his pocket as he spoke and held it toward the 
rail. 

“Daddy, don’t!” cried Mary. “I want my ring. 
You mustn’t throw it in the water.” 

At that moment a Chinaman who had been ap- 
parently watching us from some safe place of con- 
cealment darted out and struck the Doctor on the 
wrist with a stick. Involuntarily he dropped the 
box, which fell to the deck. Mary and the stranger 
sprang for it, but the Chinaman got it first and 
instantly fled toward the interior of the boat. The 
Doctor and Mary started in pursuit. 

“Stop thief,” cried the Doctor. And “Stop him,” 
cried Mary. 

The man got to the back of the boat and jumped 
overboard. 

“Did he steal something from you?” one of the 
ship’s officers inquired. 

“He took a valuable ring,” replied the Doctor. 

“There he is, swimming in the water,” cried out 
a passenger. “Why not launch a boat and pick him 
up?” 

An officer gave the orders to put out in one of 
the lifeboats. But before this was accomplished, the 
swimmer disappeared, and though the crew rowed 
about for some time, nothing could be seen of him. 

“There is nothing to do now, I fear,” the Captain 
said, “but to report your loss to the police. Would 
you know the man again?” 

“He was Chinese,” I said. 


122 Mary in California 

“I didn’t get much of a look at him,” said the 
Doctor. 

“He was certainly a Chinaman,” Mary repeated. 

“He looked young and slight to me,” said one of 
the passengers. 

“I am afraid you will not see your ring again,” 
remarked another passenger. 

“It is probably at the bottom of the bay with the 
thief,” added another man. 

“I sincerely hope so,” the Doctor whispered to 
me. He thanked the men who had launched the 
boat, and the captain. By that time the machinery 
had been set to rights, and we proceeded on our way. 
Mary was trying hard not to cry. 

“I can’t bear to think of its being lost to that 
horrid El Lobo,” she said. 

“Come, we won’t talk of it any more,” replied 
her father. “I think we are well rid of it.” 

“But you will report it to the police, won’t you, 
Dad?” 

“Oh, I suppose so. But I think we will not see 
it again, and I am glad of it.” 

“We shall not have to make the bank now, so 
let us plan what we will do first. Where shall we 
have lunch?” 

“Let’s go to a nice tea room or dairy place,” I 
said. 

“Oh, Daddy, I want to go to a really spiffy place. 
Can’t we go to a big hotel or restaurant?” 

“Since you need consolation, suppose you choose, 
Mary. We will proceed to a large and pleasant 
place with wonderful food.” 


123 


The Ring Causes Excitement 

“Hurrah, Dad, let’s go.” 

“It sounds expensive,” I murmured. But I was 
outvoted, and seeing that I could not help it, I found 
myself rather enjoying the idea. 

So it was decided to go to a fine hotel on one of 
the main thoroughfares. We were a little early for 
most diners, and we found few in the elaborate 
dining room. The head waiter became quite friendly 
while we were eating, especially when he found we 
were from the East. 

“It was in this hotel,” he told us, “that a large 
luncheon was given to President Wilson on the last 
trip before his illness. It was a great occasion.” 

“I wish I could have been here then,” said the 
Doctor. “I suppose there was an enthusiastic 
crowd. Did he seem ill?” 

“I have been told that he never spoke better.” 

“It was a tragic journey,” said the Doctor. 

“Why, Daddy?” Mary inquired. 

“Because Wilson was a sick man when he started. 
But he was so anxious to have people believe in the 
League of Nations that he believed in with all his 
soul, that he went right on through the West, talking 
everywhere for it, until he suddenly broke down, a 
martyr to what he thought a great ideal. He was 
very brave, and it was a great tragedy. He was like 
a man wounded desperately who would not leave the 
battlefield.” 

“I see,” said Mary. “Did you ever meet him, 
Daddy?” 

“I am glad to say I did once, before he was 
President. 


124 Mary in California 

“Well, let’s be going. If we don’t start we won’t 
ever get there.” 

“Where?” asked Mary. 

“Chinatown.” 

“Oh, Dad, I am crazy to see it. By the way, 
don’t forget the ‘Kootikoora’ for Maria.” 

“That would never do, would it?” 

We bade good-by to the friendly head waiter, and 
inquired of him the best way to get to the Chinese 
quarter. It was a short ride in the street car, we 
found, and then a walk up the steepest hill that we 
had seen for a long time. 

“San Francisco is like Rome, all built on hills,” 
remarked Mary. “I’d hate to have the cable break 
some time and the car start going backward.” 

“Let us devoutly hope it will not,” I remarked. 

We wandered through the principal street of 
Chinatown, sunny in the early afternoon. We went 
into great shops, where courteous Chinese trades- 
men allowed us to walk at will, admiring the beauti- 
ful silks or rich garments displayed for sale. There 
were carvings from the East and spices and sweets, 
all giving forth mystery and charm. There were 
wonderful jewels, and priceless china and porcelain. 
And brooding over all were the strange perfumes 
of the orient, weaving a spell of romance. 

We met some Chinese and also a few sightseers 
like ourselves. Mary wanted to buy souvenirs for 
her friends, and I thought of Christmas not so far 
away, so we went into a shop where there were small 
and reasonable articles for sale. Even we could 
tell the difference between the things made for the 


The Ring Causes Excitement 125 

western trade and those which might have adorned 
the house of a mandarin himself. 

The Doctor took us down a side street to the 
interesting Telephone Exchange Building, which 
looked more like a temple than the temple 
itself. 

“I thought all the houses would be built this way,” 
said Mary. “It must be funny to call numbers in 
Chinese.” 

There were several booths and in one of them a 
tall man was standing. Suddenly he turned as if to 
come out. 

The Doctor started. “By Jove, that’s El Lobo,” 
he whispered to me. “Let’s get out of here. I 
don’t think he saw us.” 

So we left the building quickly. 

“Why didn’t you want him to see us, Dad?” 
asked Mary. 

“Because you got his ring, my dear. He doesn’t 
look like a man who would forget.” 

“But we haven’t got the ring now,” objected 
Mary. 

“True, but the question is, does El Lobo know 
that? I wishT knew what he was ’phoning about. 
It would tell us a lot, maybe.” 

We wandered back into the city. 

“Is it time to go back yet?” I asked. 

“No, I think we might ride out to one of the 
missions. We could go to the Cliff House and 
see the sea lions, only I’d like to take Trix there. Or 
would you rather go out to the old World’s Fair 
grounds?” 


126 


Mary in California 

“I vote we go to the mission,” said Mary. “I 
sort of like churches.” 

So to the mission Dolores we went, with its 
ancient bell that had rung for the first time in the 
year 1776, when another bell was ringing in far- 
off Philadelphia. 

As we crossed the bay again toward evening the 
sea mists were stealing in over by the Golden Gate, 
but the city itself stood up proudly against a glory 
of gold in the sky. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE GREEK THEATER AT BERKELEY 

r I ' HE Doctor brought up a number of letters that 
evening, one being from Mrs. Norton. In this 
she described going up the canon to find that the 
automobile had survived the flames and was ap- 
parently as good as ever. 

“It seemed to bear a charmed life,” she wrote; 
“for the woods had burned all around it. Indeed 
the flames performed a lot of strange tricks of this 
sort, burning one barn and leaving a house right next 
to it. But Trix will enjoy this. We found a nest of 
squirrels, or a family of them, that had burrowed 
into one of the big back cushions. They chattered 
most indignantly when we routed them out. We are 
planning a trip to the giant sequoia trees later in 
the fall. Can’t some of you come? We have room 
for three in the auto. Jack and his wife are well and 
send love, as do we all.” 

There was a letter from Dave also, astonishingly 
long for him. 

“Dear Mother: 

“The school is fine. I like it. 

“There is a boy here named John Alden, and one 
named Jack Desmond. All the boys call him Jack 
Dempsey ’cause he fights a lot. There was a man 
127 


128 


Mary in California 

here last night who talked about a fellow named 
Burbank. Have you ever heard of him? He had 
moving pictures. There was a picture of a big cactus 
like the ones in New Mexico without the prickers as 
Trix calls them. There was a picture of a plum 
without a pit. He told us about how Burbank 
made twenty thousand prune trees grow in nine 
months. He did it by sticking the prune slips on 
almond trees that grow fast. I call that pretty 
good. He was a great scientist and did a lot for his 
country. He did it by killing a Slot of trees and 
plants that weren’t any good and keeping the good 
ones. Pleasejsend me some collars pronto and I’ve 
got to have the Story of a Bad Boy right away, too. 

“This is an awful long letter. 

“Your ’loving Dave.” 


“Daddy, what does he mean?” gasped Mary, who 
had been seized by a hearty fit of laughter during 
the reading of the letter. “How did he make the 
trees grow by killing a lot?” 

“Don’t you know anything about Burbank, Mary? 
He has been working now for fifty years, I suppose, 
improving nature. That sounds funny, but it is 
true. He has been helping nature, just as I do when 
I put fertilizer on my garden. You have heard of 
‘grafting,’ I suppose.” 

“I thought graft was something connected with 
politics and corruption.” 

“Hum, sometimes. To graft means to put a 
cutting or slip from one plant on to another, where 
it really does not belong. Take the case of Mr. Bur- 
bank. The prune trees would take a long time to 
grow and he wanted them in nine months. So he 


The Greek Theater at Berkeley 129 

planted the quick-growing almond and grafted on 
his prune shoots. He operates on trees as I do on 
people. He wants certain things in nature and 
when he does not find them, he goes ahead and tries 
by combinations to get them. He destroys the trees 
and plants that do not come up to his standard or 
that do not help him in his schemes, and only keeps 
the perfect ones or those that will be useful to him. 
So gradually he has evolved the spineless cactus and 
the pitless plum. It is all very wonderful and 
seems like magic — till you remember that I can take 
blood from a well person and put it in the veins of 
some one who is sick and health will come to him. 
I can take a bone from an animal and graft it on a 
cripple. It seems like magic, but it is true. It is a 
miracle of science.” 

“I’d like to see Burbank,” said Mary. “I’d like 
to meet a celebrity. Are you one, Dad?” 

The Doctor laughed. “Far from it,” he said. 

“But do you know, I think we ought to plan out a 
little what we are going to do. The weeks are 
fairly flying and our week-ends will be gone before 
we know it. We want to see everything, but we 
can’t. I want to go up Tamalpais and see Muir 
Woods and maybe drive out to Bolinas and 
have some swims. I want to take Trix to see 
the sea lions at the Cliff House and the museum 
there. 

“Then this trip to the sequoias and the Yosemite 
sounds good. But we can’t all do that. It costs 
too much, and anyway we are not invited.” 

“Don’t forget Mary’s pageant,” I said. “And 


130 Mary in California 

I am anxious to get a sight of the Greek theater at 
the University of California.” 

“Surely — I hear there is to be a play there. Per- 
haps we can get in somehow.” 

“And I want to see Leland Stanford,” put in 
Mary. “I think I’d like to go to college there for 
a year or two. I’d like to get away. And oh, Dad, 
I heard to-day that there was to be a visit from the 
fleet. We must see that. We can see it from the 
Pre — Pre — what do you call it?” 

“The Presidio — that is a big park where the 
army post is. We must surely go there. Perhaps 
Dave could come up for that. When is it?” 

“Why, I think a week from Saturday. I’d just 
love to go aboard one of the boats.” 

“Well, we seem to have a long program. We 
surely must see all we can, but I don’t see how we 
can do everything. Suppose you and Trix go to the 
sequoias with the Nortons and I take Mary to 
Tamalpais and Muir Woods.” 

“I don’t see that that is fair,” I answered. “The 
Yosemite and the big trees are very important for 
every one to see, especially the children. Why 
shouldn’t Dave and Mary go?” 

“I don’t think the .Nortons could be asked to take 
the children alone. How about you and Trix and 
Dave going? Mary and I could go up Tamalpais 
and Muir Woods.” 

“Couldn’t we all go on the way home?” 

“Not if we motor as we intended to. Yet, maybe 
we can. We shall have to look up maps and 
things. Suppose then the four of us plan for Tamal- 


The Greek Theater at Berkeley 13 1 

pais and Muir Woods next Saturday,” said the 
Doctor. 

U I think that is the date for the performance at 
the Greek theater,” I said. 

“And the week after is probably the fleet?” 

“Yes, Dad—” 

“Well, then, the week after.” 

“That’s the pageant here, Daddy.” 

“Oh, I give it up ! We’ll simply go when we can. 
Let’s ask the Nortons to postpone their trip and 
tell them we all want to go. I declare, there are 
too many things to see in California !” 

It was a few days after this that Mary asked if 
she could not spend Friday night with Winifred. 
There seemed to be no good reason for refusing, so 
consent was given. 

“Don’t forget that we go to the university to see 
the Greek play Saturday afternoon, so come back 
early in the morning. We ought to start by eleven. 
We are to lunch with one of the faculty there.” 

“Is Trix going?” 

“No. Trix will stay home as usual. Or rather, 
the invaluable Maria is to take Trix and Tom and 
Jack on a picnic. Don’t stay awake all night. And 
by the way, I wish you would ask Winifred if she is 
any relation to the Miss Ransome who has the ex- 
cellent girls’ boarding school?” 

“Are only excellent girls allowed there, Mother? 
But I did ask her and she said no. It was a different 
family. Cynthia and I are going to bowl now, if 
there isn’t any one else there. Won’t you come too, 
Mother?” 


132 Mary in California 

“I think I will. It’s a long time since I have 
bowled.” 

There seemed to be some sort of mystery 
connected with Friday night. Mary had a man- 
ner of suppressed excitement when she took leave 
of us. 

“I don’t believe she’ll sleep a wink all night,” said 
the Doctor. 

“She’ll tell us about it some day,” I observed, 
“though maybe not to-morrow.” 

Apparently the Doctor was right, for when Mary 
appeared at nine-thirty Saturday morning she was 
a weary-looking girl, pale with dark rings under her 
eyes. 

“But oh, Mother, it was fun. Can’t I come here 
to college, Dad? They are so nice here.” 

“What happened?” asked her father. 

“Oh, I can’t tell. It’s a secret. I promised not 
to.” 

“Cross your heart and strike me dead?” 

“Now, Dad, nothing so foolish!” 

“You are sure of that? Now I am a clairvoyant, 
a magician. I see hooded figures stealing out at 
midnight and wandering through the eucalyptus 
grove to the lake, where strange ceremonies took 
place. Some freshmen were initiated into the secret 
society of the Natatores.” 

“Now, Dad, that name is too silly.” 

“Well, what was the name? I see some mer- 
maids swimming and sporting about in the water.” 

“Dad, who told you?” 

“I tell you, I am a magician. Isn’t it true? 


The Greek Theater at Berkeley 133 

Didn’t you all, or portions of you, get into the 
lake?” 

“I promised not to tell.” 

‘‘So you did. But I made no promise. Now 
’fess up, or I’ll go and shout the glad tidings.” 

“I think Dad’s mean, Mother. The girls will 
think I didn’t keep the pledge.” 

“My dear, I won’t ask any more questions. You 
must surely keep your word. But I thought secret 
societies were taboo.” 

“We did have such fun!” Mary sighed. 

“You look as if you had,” remarked the Doctor. 
“Also there is a suspicion of dampness about the 
top of your head. These early dawn baths are 
wearing.” 

Mary put her hand to her hair, and then rushed 
off upstairs. 

“Don’t forget we start on the eleven o’clock car 
on the upper track. Not the one that goes to 
Frisco,” called her father after her. 

“Those girls must have had a jolly time,” he 
added with a grin. “I wish you could have been 
present.” 

It was quite a walk to the platform where we 
took the cars into Oakland. But the eucalyptus trees 
gave us pleasant shade. We passed the President’s 
house, with its lovely gardens and the two feathery 
pepper trees. 

“It seems so funny to see palms about in front 
of the houses,” said Mary. “I feel as though there 
was to be a party and they were decorations.” 

“I can’t quite get used to them either,” I said. 


134 


Mary in California 

“What are we going to see to-day, I mean in 
the theater, beside the college buildings?’’ Mary 
asked. 

“The play is ‘Elektra,’ I think,” said the Doctor. 
“A gruesome tragedy. But it will be beautifully 
done, and as it’s Greek, we will like it. I must say 
I like the cheerful ones better.” 

We found the university very large. “It’s like a 
whole city,” Mary said, “all spread out; and what 
a wonderful great white tower. Can we go up?” 

“We certainly can. It has a fine view,” our host 
told us. “This place has more students than any 
other university in the United States, but I am not 
always sure that that is an advantage. To para- 
phrase an old friend of you New Englanders, ‘We 
don’t always crack the nut and bring out the meat.’ 
But there is something inspiring, too, in the size of 
us.” 

We were standing on the balcony at the top of 
the tower and gazing over the wonderful panorama 
of buildings and brown hills and blue sea. It was 
beautiful from whichever point we looked. 

“You will find it very hot in the theater,” added 
our host. “But I think I succeeded in getting seats 
on the shady side. So, who knows, you may need 
your furs. That is one of the peculiarities of our 
climate.” 

The Greek theater was very large, with its great 
stage, and its columns between which the actors came 
and went. And all open to the blue sky and the 
bright sun overhead. For there was no roof, and 
very little shade, as we soon found. At the back 


The Greek Theater at Berkeley 135 

there rose trees, but these did not cast any shadow 
upon the majority of the audience. It was a beauti- 
ful spot, and a fitting background for the great 
Grecian play we were to see. Even the ancient 
Greeks could not have asked a better. 

“It seems like Greece, doesn’t it, Mother? At 
least I always thought of Greece like this. All 
brilliant sunlight and white columns.” 

“I have pictured it that way, too. Let us pre- 
tend that these pretty, gaily gowned girls are 
Athenians and the boys in their white flannels really 
dressed in togas with wreaths about their ‘hya- 
cinthine locks,’ as Homer would have put it,” said 
the Doctor. 

The tragedy was presented in a way that left 
nothing to be desired. Every word could be heard, 
and the illusion was perfect. Mary and I found 
ourselves dissolved in tears, sitting in modern 
California, while university students with only a 
few professional actors told forth the woes that 
fate prepared for the ancients in the days when the 
world was young. 

“It is so beautiful and so terrible, Mother. But 
I think if it hadn’t been done so well, I would have 
wanted to laugh.” So Mary spoke as we started 
home. “I am awfully glad I saw it. I didn’t w T ant 
to come a bit. But the choruses were so lovely. I 
wish there had been more of them. I wish we could 
wear those long Greek clothes.” 

“Do you think I would look nice in a short toga 
too?” asked her father. “And how would you play 
tennis in a long garment?” 


136 Mary in California 

“But the Greek girls wore short things when they 
played ball, Daddy. I’ve seen pictures of them.” 

“That’s right. They are pretty to look at any- 
way. But I think in our cold New England winters 
I prefer trousers.” 

It was late when we reached home and we were 
all tired, especially Mary. Even Trix, after a day 
of joyous excitement with Maria, seemed ready for 
bed. 

“There isn’t anything on for to-morrow, is there?” 
asked the Doctor, yawning, about nine o’clock. And 
I assured him that there was not. 

“Nothing but church. I think I’d like to go to 
church,” I observed. “I feel as though we had 
gotten very far from New England.” 

“I would like a peaceful Massachusetts Sabbath 
myself,” replied the Doctor with another yawn. 

But the morning brought its own excitement. The 
front page of the newspapers which Maria brought 
us on her return from early service bore the 
enormous headlines, “Bank in San Francisco robbed. 
Safe broken open in the early evening by daring 
bandits. It is not certain how many were involved. 
Nothing missing from the safe.” 

“Wasn’t that the bank my ring was to go to?” 
asked Mary. 

“Yes, indeed. It looks as though El Lobo had 
been at work. He probably was hugely disap- 
pointed. He does not seem to know everything. I 
wonder who has the ring anyway?” said the Doctor. 

“But El Lobo had no right to wear it, if what that 
man in Santa Barbara told you was true,” said 


The Greek Theater at Berkeley 137 

Mary. “Only the head of the society. I don’t 
believe El Lobo is that.” 

“Neither do I,” answered her father. “I am glad 
they are fighting it out between them and we are no 
longer involved.” 

“I am afraid I’ll never see my ring again,” Mary 
said disconsolately. 


CHAPTER X 


THE PACIFIC FLEET VISITS SAN FRANCISCO 
HE day the great fleet was to arrive dawned 



at last with promise of fair weather, although 
mists still hung over the Golden Gate when we made 
our early start for San Francisco. 

The ships were due at noon, but from daybreak 
the ferries and trolleys and trains were crowded with 
sightseers, anxious to get positions of advantage. 

“You’d think there was only one grand stand in- 
stead of a great park to watch from,” I said. 

“Just wait,” observed the Doctor. “You will find 
the shores crowded so that back of the fifteenth line 
no one will catch a glimpse of the water even, let 
alone the fleet.” 

The trolleys were filled to overflowing, so we 
finally took a taxi out to the Presidio, where we 
could find our way on foot. We had provided our- 
selves with field glasses and food and two folding 
camp stools, and were prepared to spend the day. 

“I wish Dave were here,” said Trix. “He’d 
love to see the boats. Can we go on them, Daddy?” 

“Not to-day, but I hope we can on some other 
day. I have a fancy that I know the surgeon on 
one of them. Perhaps we could get aboard some day 
when the public are not admitted.” 


The Pacific Fleet Visits San Francisco 139 

The park, with its trees and well-kept roads, was 
a pleasant place in which to be. Presently we found 
ourselves with a small group on a little hill, not at 
the water’s edge, but commanding a fine view of 
the bay, where the last streaks of fog still lingered. 

We sat down, and Trix declared she was hungry. 
“Can’t I have a sandwich?” she begged. “Just one, 
with peanut butter in it.” 

The thought of a sandwich was pleasant to all, 
although it was only half past nine. 

“But we did start so early, Mother;” so Mary 
explained the hunger of all of us. 

The sandwiches were passed. Then in a few 
minutes, Trix, more outspoken than the rest, in- 
sisted that she was still hungry. So the sandwiches 
were passed again, and no one refused. Then, “I 
am so thirsty, Mother,” pleaded Trix. 

So some fruit was distributed and we sat in perfect 
contentment amid oranges and plums. 

All the time the sky was getting bluer, and the 
sea, stirred by a fresh wind, was a mass of sparkling 
blue and white. On shore an incredible number of 
people were gathered, moving slowly in one direc- 
tion. Whole families, with babes-in-arms, were 
wedged between automobiles. It was like a colony 
of ants, watching from where we sat. 

“It is strange to think what a different place this 
is from the Spanish presidio where the prison stood. 
How astonished the old hidalgos would have been,” 
said the Doctor. 

“Even the early pioneers might express some 
surprise!” I said. “Your famous great-aunt who 


140 Mary in California 

lived here in the days of the Vigilance Committee, 
— what do you suppose she would say to these 
orderly crowds and the extremely efficient police?” 

“Did your great-aunt live here then, Daddy? 
Was she a Californian?” 

“By adoption and grace, but not by birth. She 
was one of the pioneer women. Your grandmother, 
Mary, came out here in the early fifties to visit. 
She went by way of Panama and rode across on a 
donkey.” 

“Oh, Daddy, what fun. It must have taken 
months to do it. I suppose they went by sea after 
they got through with the donkey. How old was 
she — Grandmother, I mean?” 

“About your age. She came to be with her aunt 
and uncle. That was in the famous days of the 
Vigilantes, when it was unsafe to walk out of an 
evening in the city of San Francisco. The search for 
gold had brought all the riff-raff from everywhere. 
Sometimes it was easier to dig the precious metal 
out of the pockets of an honest citizen than out of 
the earth. Every corner had its gambling den and 
its saloon. 

“But when things get too bad, honest men cannot 
stand it. Finally a few good citizens, among them 
your great-uncle, formed a committee, the Vigilance 
Committee. They swore to bring back order to 
their city, and they did. They policed the streets. 
They took murderers whom the so-called law would 
not condemn, and after a fair trial hanged them, 
when they were proved guilty. As soon as the thugs 
and desperate characters found that the law of the 


The Pacific Fleet Visits San Francisco 141 

land would be enforced, they calmed down a bit and 
went out of town for their health. 

“There was a most remarkable minister here then, 
William Taylor. He was the same man who intro- 
duced eucalyptus trees. During the worst days of 
’49 and ’50 he preached in the streets every Sunday, 
to enormous crowds. He didn’t mince matters 
either, but spoke his mind out about gambling and 
drinking and killing. He spoke most informally 
and used to address the people personally who came 
to hear him. He was loved especially by the sailors 
whom he tried to help. But in all the seven years 
of his street preaching, he never allowed a collection 
to be taken up for himself.” 

“What happened to him, Dad?” asked Mary. 
“Did they kill him?” 

“No, he went to be a missionary somewhere in 
Africa or Asia, I think.” 

“Why aren’t there more really great men now, 
Daddy? The people I know are all about the same. 
I don’t know any heroes.” 

“Why, yes you do. There were plenty of heroes 
in the great war, and some your own cousins.” 

“Oh, in war, of course. But I mean in peace 
times. They don’t brave dangers like the old 
pioneers.” 

“You ought to read the stories of the winners of 
the Carnegie medals each year. There is certainly 
plenty of heroism there. Then think of the scientists 
who brave danger all the time in their research work. 
Remember Reed, who discovered the yellow-fever 
germ. Take Madame Curie, who discovered the 


142 


Mary in California 

uses of radium, knowing all the time what a danger- 
ous tool she was experimenting with.” 

“But I don’t know Madame Curie or the Carnegie 
medal people,” objected Mary. 

“Maybe I can contrive an introduction some time. 
I knew a man once who slept in a tent down in a 
place infested with yellow fever. He did it to prove 
that unless he were bitten by a particular kind of 
mosquito, he wouldn’t catch the fever. He even 
slept in the bedding that had been used by a yellow- 
fever patient.” 

“Oh, Daddy, did he catch it?” 

“Certainly not. But that showed to the world 
that the health of that place depended on the killing 
of the mosquito, and had nothing to do with climate 
or night air. That fellow was pretty brave, I 
think.” 

“But, Daddy, he knew he wouldn’t catch it, 
didn’t he?” 

“You can’t be certain of anything in science until 
it is proved. But if you won’t grant his hero- 
ism, how about the other fellow who deliberately 
got himself bitten by a poisonous mosquito, to 
prove that that was the way the fever could be 
caught?” 

“Yes, he was brave, Daddy. I wouldn’t have 
liked to do that. Still, I think it would be easier 
than doing what those early settlers did. Think of 
the lonely plains and the Indians and hunger and 
thirst and wild animals. How did they ever do it? 
and they took children, too, didn’t they?” 

“I often wonder how the youngsters did survive,” 


The Pacific Fleet Visits San Francisco 143 

said her father. “Did you ever hear of Virginia 
Reed?” 

“No. Who was she?” 

“She was one of the children we were speaking of, 
a twelve-year-old girl. In the midst of the worst 
part of the journey through the wilderness her father 
got into trouble with one of the other men. He 
was declared to be in the wrong, and was sentenced 
to banishment. He was turned out of camp with 
his horse, without a gun or food. But that night 
after dark Virginia and a young man she had per- 
suaded to go with her followed Mr. Reed’s horse 
by the tracks in the sand. They carried his rifle and 
food and drink. If they were discovered by their 
own people or were found by Indians, they knew it 
would mean death. They could hear wolves and 
wild cats, not to mention coyotes. It was a terrible 
trip, but they finally found the man, who in despair 
had given up all hope. You can imagine his joy at 
seeing his brave little daughter and getting back his 
trusty gun. Virginia wanted to stay with her father, 
but he would not allow it. So she and her friend 
crept back to camp again, undiscovered, and told 
Mrs. Reed, who was quite heartbroken, the good 
news of their adventure.” 

“Wasn’t she wonderful, Dad? I wish I could do 
things like that.” 

“Well, I hope you may never have to do it for 
me. Perhaps now we have lost the ring, we can 
look forward to an uneventful life.” 

“What is an uneventful life?” asked Trix. 

“What we’re doing now,” laughed the Doctor, 


144 


Mary in California 

jumping up. ‘‘Let’s take a look around. This is 
almost too uneventful.” 

“I want to go too,” said Trix. “Where are you 
going?” 

“Just for a walk. I don’t believe we can find a 
better place to see from than this. But I would like 
a little excitement.” 

“When will the boats come?” asked Trix. 

At that moment we heard a very faint sound 
like a distant gun. 

“What was that?” asked Mary. 

“I believe they are coming,” cried the Doctor. 
“Where are the field glasses?” 

“Let me look; let me look!” was Trix’s cry. 

“Yes, I can see them through the glasses — way 
off there to the left. Just coming in through the 
Golden Gate. No, Trix, you must wait till your 
mother has looked.” 

“There isn’t anything much to see yet, silly,” said 
Mary. “Wait till they come nearer.” 

The little black bobbing hulls were not much to 
see, in truth. But they were coming steadily nearer 
over the sparkling sea, with the white foam tossing 
from their bows. We could see the white smoke 
from their guns and then later could hear the report. 
The guns at the fort began to answer, and people 
cheered and waved flags, and handkerchiefs and 
napkins from their lunch baskets. Some enthusi- 
asts even threw their hats in the air. 

Nearer and nearer came the stern gray ships, 
their battle turrets dark against the sky. Through 
the glasses we could see them plainly, even to the 



SAN FRANCISCO S GOLDEN GATE 










sm 
















WINTER SPORTS IN THE YOSEMITE 
(Photo from National Geographic Society by Boysen Studio, Yosemite, California) 




The Pacific Fleet Visits San Francisco 145 

sailors on the decks and in the rigging. It was 
a sight to thrill the heart of even the most peaceful 
minded. Faintly over the water came the strains of 
“The Star-Spangled Banner,” played by the band 
on one of the ships. Bright against the sky floated 
the stars and stripes from the stern of each boat. 

“I am glad they are coming back, not going out to 
war, Mother,” whispered Mary. “I can see the men 
so plainly. I suppose a lot of them may have been 
in the war, don’t you think so ?” 

U I shouldn’t wonder. See the submarines there, 
Mary,” said her father. “See, Trix, that is a sub- 
marine, over there. Your eyes are so good, you can 
see it without the glasses.” He lifted the youngster 
on his shoulders. 

“Is it that funny little one? Oh, Dad, please let 
me .look through the glasses,” begged Trix. 

It took her a few minutes to manage them. But 
suddenly she exclaimed, “Why, Dad, there is a goat 
or something on the big boat; and oh, I can see the 
men ! Why it’s right up close. How can it get so 
close? Why, where is it?” she added, as she put 
the glasses down and the boat receded again into 
the distance. 

So we stood and watched the great fleet go by, 
amidst the shouts of the crowds, till it vanished 
about the point of land and disappeared from sight. 

“Oh, let’s go down to the shore and try and catch 
a last glimpse of them,” begged Mary. 

“I’d rather not take Trix down in the crowds. 
Why don’t you and your father go? We will wait 
here,” I suggested. 


146 Mary in California 

“Come on, Dad, come quick,” and Mary started 
off toward the shore. 

The people around us followed like sheep, and 
soon Trix and I were deserted, much to her disgust. 

“I want to see the boats, too, Mother,” she 
said. 

“I don’t believe they will see anything more. 
Come, let’s set out the rest of the lunch and get it 
ready for them when they come back.” 

“Are we going to have a fire?” 

“No, I don’t believe we’ll bother.” 

We unpacked the rest of the lunch. There was 
a wonderful looking pie that Maria had made for 
us and some stuffed eggs. 

“Do we have to wait for the others?” asked 
Trix. “Can’t we eat ours now?” 

“I think we had better wait. They won’t be 
long.” 

But it was hard to restrain Trix as the minutes 
dragged on and the others did not return. 

“Mother, some ants are eating my sandwich,” 
said Trix finally. “I want to eat it myself.” 

So I divided the remaining food into four por- 
tions, and Trix made short work of her share. 

“I shall not even leave one crumb for those horrid 
ants,” she remarked. “And, Mother, you’d better 
look out for the other things ’cause a whole family 
of ants are going for them.” 

But before the ants had been able to get even a 
portion of a meal the Doctor’s familiar whistle was 
heard and he and Mary appeared. They were hot 
and hungry, and had seen no boats. 


The Pacific Fleet Visits San Francisco 147 

“Oh, Mother, it was such a crowd,” said Mary. 
“They were so mussy and tired and the place was 
full of papers and banana peels. But who do you 
think I saw in the crowd? El Lobo ! I am sure of 
it. He saw me, too, and tried to follow us. But he 
couldn’t in the jam. Do you suppose he thinks I 
still have the ring?” 

“It is astonishing how bold he is,” observed the 
Doctor. “He is wanted by the police for that train 
holdup, and yet here he is, wandering without dis- 
guise through such a crowd as this. I have a great 
mind to give a tip to the nearest policeman. I hate 
to think of that fellow at liberty.” 

“Let the police look out for him themselves,” I 
said. “Let us not get mixed up in anything more !” 

“But I want to get my ring back,” murmured 
Mary. “My goodness, Mother, what a wonderful 
pie this is of Maria’s. I wish she could come east 
with us.” 

“By the way, how is ‘Boney’s’ hair getting on?” 
asked the Doctor. “I have been so busy that I 
forgot to look. Trix, do you know?” 

“He’s getting white woolly stuff all over his back,” 
answered Trix. “It’s awful funny.” 

“I should think it might be.” 

“If only Maria wouldn’t wash me so much! She 
washes me in places you never did, Mother.” 

“Nonsense, Trix, I washed you all over,” I ob- 
jected indignantly. 

“But not every day. And you used to let me wash 
myself and then I could skip, but Maria washes me 
herself. She’s awful.” 


1 48 Mary in California 

“She loves you, Trix, and she’s just as good to 
you as she can be,” said Mary. “She takes you all 
over and gives you things.” 

The last traces of the picnic were cleaned up or 
buried, so we all arose and started back toward the 
far distant trolley. The roads were comparatively 
free by this time, but the walk seemed very long 
and hot. Trix was tired and wished she were home 
with Maria. But even the longest way must end, 
and at last the welcome sound of a trolley gong 
could be heard. 

“Dad, you will take us on board one of the 
ships, won’t you?” begged Mary. 

“If I can, I certainly will.” 

“Me, too, Dad?” asked Trix. 

“The whole family,” answered her father. “We 
will all hang together or we will all hang separately.” 

“Daddy,” whispered Mary as we got on the 
crowded trolley at the gate of the park, “I saw 
El Lobo get on this car.” 

“It may be just a happen-so,” he responded. “But 
if that man tries to follow us, I’ll report him to 
the police. I won’t stand for any nonsense.” 

We were a tired party when we arrived at the 
ferry. This, too, was crowded, but at least there 
was fresh air on the upper deck, and the possibility 
of sitting on the edge of a lifeboat or a coil of 
rope. 

Presently Mary left us to buy some odds and 
ends, and we stood and admired the gulls with 
Trix. We could see the fleet anchored to the south 


The Pacific Fleet Visits San Francisco 149 

of us. We were almost across the bay before Mary 
returned, in high excitement. 

“Daddy, I’ve spoken to El Lobo,” she whispered. 
“He asked me if we had the ring and I told him 
no. I said the Chinese secret society had it, and 
that he could not get it. I told him he couldn’t 
wear it, anyway, because he wasn’t the chief of the 
society, and they’d kill him if he wore it. He asked 
me if I wanted the ring very much, and I said yes. 
He asked me how much we’d give for it, and I said 
a lot. He wanted to know if we’d give five hundred 
dollars. I laughed and said no. He said he’d get 
it for me for five hundred dollars. Then I came 
back here. I knew you wouldn’t give that much, 
would you?” 

“I’d sooner give him five hundred lashes!” 
growled t*he Doctor. “Don’t ever talk to that 
scoundrel again, Mary. If you do, I shall certainly 
inform the police.” 

“What would you pay for the ring, Daddy?” 
Mary asked. 

“Not a lead nickel,” was the answer. “And re- 
member, you are not to talk to that man again, and 
if he writes, I want to know it.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE PAGEANT 

T HE evening before the pageant, the Doctor was 
to lecture at Leland Stanford University. It 
was out of the question for Mary to go, as she had a 
rehearsal, and I hesitated to leave her and Trix alone 
with old Maria. But I was finally persuaded. We 
had heard so much of Stanford that I was anxious 
to* visit there. 

Indeed, we found it different from anything we 
had seen. The brown Romanesque buildings, the 
great palms, the fountains, all seemed like the East, 
and one half expected to meet turbaned figures in- 
stead of very modern boys and girls. There was 
a great swimming pool out in the open which Mary 
and Dave would have appreciated. 

We were taken over the beautiful modern library 
and climbed the tower to look over the rolling hills 
and acres of fertile fields, flowers and vegetables, 
fruit trees of all kinds. 

“The college was certainly a princely gift for a 
woman to give as a memorial,” the Doctor said to 
me, as we descended the stairs. “They tell me that 
during the time the money questions were being 
settled, Mrs. Stanford and the faculty, too, lived 
on next to nothing. It is an inspiring story in the 
150 


The Pageant 15 1 

history of colleges. I wish Mary could see this 
place.” 

“I wish she were here too,” I said. “Somehow 
I feel uneasy about their being at home alone.” 

“But think of Maria and the ‘bonies.’ ” 

“Yes, I think of them, but they don’t console 
me. 

It must have been at about that moment, as we 
heard afterward, that Mary, her rehearsal over, was 
eating a picnic supper with Winifred and several 
others of the cast under the eucalyptus trees. 
It was a beautiful, moonlight night and very 
tempting. 

“Let’s start a secret society,” Winifred said. “It 
shall have ten members.” 

All this Mary confided to me several weeks later. 
The rules included a monthly meeting beside the 
lake, after dark, and an annual sunrise swim in the 
lake, to take place on the first night of May. Mary 
objected that she would not be able to be present, 
and thereupon she was elected an honorary member, 
and promised to get a swim somewhere on that day, 
when possible. The California Poppy was to be 
their flower. The meetings were to be always at 
midnight under the eucalyptus trees. They tried 
to remain out that night until twelve, but gradually 
yawns took place of conversation, and finally some 
one moved to adjourn the meeting. 

“I can’t keep awake,” Winifred herself observed, 
yawning prodigiously. So slowly they trooped back 
to their several halls. 

Two of them accompanied Mary home, and found 


152 


Mary in California 

to their consternation that Maria had locked and 
bolted and fairly glued the doors and windows. 

“Well, what are you going to do now?” asked 
Winifred. 

“Wake up Trix or Maria.” 

They rang the doorbell without effect, and then 
threw stones at the upper window. Finally a head 
swathed in clothes appeared at the window and 
Maria, who always spoke German when excited, 
demanded, “Ver ist da?” 

“I’m sorry to wake you. It’s me, Mary.” 

The head looked out further and presently dis- 
appeared. In a few minutes, Maria, in a large 
canton flannel nightgown and carpet slippers, opened 
the door just enough to allow Mary to slip in. 

“Remember that we must always write to each 
other on the anniversary of the founding of the 
society, no matter where we are,” whispered Wini- 
fred. 

“We can’t all write to each one of us,” Mary 
objected. 

“No, all send word to me, or whoever happens to 
be grand commander, what you are doing, and I 
will send the word around. Don’t tell any one. 
Good night.” 

Maria gave her charge a good scolding. 

“Vat time of night for a goot girl to be coming 
home,” she said. “I vill tell your Popper und 
Mamma.” 

But somehow Mary bribed her not to. 

“I will tell Mother myself, some time,” she 
promised, “if only you won’t.” 


The Pageant 153 

So it was that I heard about the secret society 
many months later. Will there ever be another 
meeting, I wonder? 

The day of the pageant was unusually clear and 
pleasantly warm. At three we all gathered beside 
the lake, which reflected in its clear blue-green the 
gay colors and tall shapes of the eucalyptus trees. 
It was hard to tell where land began and water 
ended. The visiting dignitaries from England for 
whom the play was given were seated with the 
President of the college. The bright colored 
dresses of the audience made them seem almost like 
part of the performance. 

Through the trees came a group of lovely dancers, 
the mists of the dawn, and following them, Manalar, 
Sun goddess and mother of the ancients. 

Then the Indians, children of nature, appeared 
with their tents, and started out to hunt. It seemed 
hard to believe that we were not looking through 
magic glasses into the past. While the Indians 
were hunting, a chorus of wild flowers danced 
about. Poppies, cornflowers, bluebells, dandelions, 
in the gayest of bright colors, flitted in, and Trix 
recognized Mary and Cynthia among the yellow 
poppies. 

Presently the Indians returned in triumph from 
their hunting, to Trix’s great delight. She preferred 
them to the flower spirits. 

“Are they real Indians?’’ she asked. “Did they 
come from New Mexico?” 

“Of course they aren’t,” replied young Jack, the 
nine-year-old son of the President. “Why, there’s 


154 


Mary in California 


Nancy and Eleanor and lots of the girls. They are 
just pretend Indians.” 

Trix was finally convinced when she recognized 
her old friend Winifred in the young hero, Cocopah, 
whose wedding with the beautiful maiden Matilija 
was celebrated in the true Indian fashion. Presents 
were exchanged and Cocopah carried his bride to 
his tepee or tent while the fathers and relatives 
spread seeds and grain before their path to signify 
the good wishes of all for fruitfulness and plenty. 
The strange, primitive Indian dances with which 
they celebrated the wedding were interrupted by 
the strains of a Latin hymn, and a weary company 
of Spanish missionaries appeared. They were made 
welcome by the hospitable red men, who took a 
childish interest in the red clothes and strings of 
beads which the padres brought. Only the old chief 
and Cocopah and his bride were suspicious and 
followed afar off. 

“Is it all over?” demanded Trix, when the Indians 
disappeared behind the hill. 

“No, indeed,” answered Jack. “There’s going 
to be a war dance, and lots of exciting things.” 

There was an interlude when the beautiful Mana- 
lar appeared and sorrowfully led away the wild 
spirits of tree and wood who had dwelt so happily 
with the Indians, but could not abide the white 
man and his ways. 

“Aren’t the Indians coming back, Mother?” Trix 
wanted to know. 

“Don’t you think this is pretty?” I asked. “Don’t 


The Pageant 155 

you like to see them dancing among the dark oaks 
and the great tall eucalyptus trees?” 

“I would like to dance, too,” said Trix. “Why 
couldn’t I have been a little Indian?” 

The second part of the pageant showed the 
baptism of an Indian baby. But the ceremony was 
rudely interrupted by a whirlwind dance of the 
ancient spirits, who appeared to lead the Indians 
back to their old faith. 

“Now comes the war dance,” whispered Jack. 

The sound of the war drums and the war chant 
of the savages could be heard, and presently Trix 
was delighted and half fearful at the antics of 
the Indians, who finally rushed off to massacre 
the padres. But the Indians were repulsed, and 
fled to the hills. 

Only the lovely bride, Matilija, remains, search- 
ing for her lover, who has not returned with the 
braves. 

The old order has changed and the white man 
is the conqueror. Trix hid her head on my shoulder 
and cried when poor Cocopah staggered in and fell 
beside Matilija, whose mourning was cut short by 
a bullet from the Spaniards. 

“It’s not real, Trix,” whispered her father. 
“They are just pretending.” 

“But I’m so sorry for them,” murmured Trix. 

“Look, Trix, what is coming,” I said. 

Springing from the ground apparently came two 
lovely white figures, the Matilija Poppies, who em- 
bodied the spirits of the lovers, united in death. 


156 Mary in California 

“I don’t care,” said Trix. “Why did Winifred 
have to be dead?” 

Nor was she happy again until the pipe of peace 
was smoked between the Indians and their con- 
querors and companies of Spanish marched in with 
supplies and reinforcements for the padres. 

“I confess I sympathize with Trix,” said the 
Doctor, as we arose to go. “It is a sad play, and 
only too true. With our boasted civilization we 
have done a lot of harm to the weaker races.” 

Mary joined us in her pretty yellow dress. 

“Wasn’t it lovely, Mother?” she wanted to know. 
“I don’t think I ever saw anything so beautiful. 
Wasn’t Winifred fine? She looked so like an 
Indian with her black hair and eyes. I am so 
sorry it’s over. I’ll never have such a good time 
again.” 

“There was some one else who looked pretty,” 
observed her father. “Yellow is very becoming to 
you, Mary.” 

“Did you really think I looked well? I am so 
glad. Won’t you come and tell Winifred you liked 
it, because none of her family are here, and I think 
she’s sort of blue.” 

So we hunted up the hero and congratulated her. 

“I wish your father and mother and your Indian 
friends could have seen you,” said the Doctor. 
“They would have been proud of you.” 

“It was a fine pageant, wasn’t it? I think every 
one did wonderfully. They say the English people 
are delighted. We are going to have a dance and 
a spread. Mary can come, can’t she?” 


The Pageant 157 

‘‘Surely, ” I replied, “if some one will walk home 
with her. Do you stay in your costumes?” 

“No, but we have our pictures taken right away. 
We’ll see Mary home. And thanks for liking our 
play.” 

“Mary is surely having a good time,” observed 
the Doctor. “I am afraid home doings will seem 
quite tame when she gets back to New England 
again.” 

“The West has treated us all very well,” I re- 
marked. “What fine hospitable people we have met, 
and how friendly they have been to us.” 

“It is the pioneer spirit, I think,” the Doctor said. 
“In the days of the frontier the traveler found a 
hearty welcome after the dangers and trials he had 
passed through. I think their descendants are keep- 
ing up the tradition. May it never pass away from 
the West as it has to some extent from the East.” 


CHAPTER XII 


TAMALPAIS AND MUIR WOODS — TRIX GETS LOST 

/^\NE afternoon in November the Doctor received 
a letter from Mr. Norton. It said that they 
had suddenly decided to go out and visit the big 
trees in Sequoia Park. They were going over the 
week-end, and could they take Dave? 

“I say, let him go,” said his father. “And what 
do you think of the idea of our going out to Muir 
Woods, Tamalpais, and Bolinas over the week-end 
while Dave is visiting the big trees elsewhere?” 

“How about Mary’s school?” I objected. 

“It won’t hurt her to take a day’s holiday. We 
can go to Muir Woods ‘Friday, spend two nights 
there or on Tamalpais, get the stage to Bolinas 
Saturday morning, and spend 'Sunday afternoon 
swimming. We can return Monday. It sounds 
good to me. There is to be some sort of conference 
here Monday morning, and I have no lecture.” 

“Yes, but Mary. She will lose two days of 
school.” 

“It can’t be done in less time, so I think she will 
just have to lose them. She’s standing well in her 
classes and a holiday will do her good.” 

So it was decided. The Doctor sent off a letter 
to Mr. Norton and to Dave’s school, and we pre- 
pared our camping things and bathing suits for the 
158 


Tamalpais and Muir Woods — Trix Gets Lost 159 

four-day trip. Now that the pageant was safely 
over it seemed wise to do our sightseeing as soon 
as possible. 

“We may have rain, so go prepared for it. But 
it won’t be any wetter than the rains at home.” 

“It was nice to be able to count on the weather 
in September,” I remarked. 

“But, Daddy,” said Mary, “Winifred says no 
one goes in swimming in Bolinas now. It’s too 
cold.” 

“If it is too cold, we won’t go in,” answered 
her father. “I don’t believe it’s colder than on 
the coast of Maine. And at least we can picnic on 
the sands. I must say I like the uncertainty of not 
knowing how the weather will work out,” he added. 
“I got tired of nothing but sunshine and dryness. 
They tell me the beach is beautiful at Bolinas. I 
hope we have a clear morning for Tamalpais. I 
would hate to be enveloped in fog and have no 
view.” 

“How do we get there?” I asked. “It sounds 
like a long trip, Tamalpais. It is a fascinating 
name.” 

“We go to Frisco and then by boat for about an 
hour. Then we take a train at a place called 
Sausolito and change to the mountain railroad after 
a short run. The Tamalpais road is eight miles 
in length and is the crookedest one in the world. 
It really is not a long trip. Mary can attend morn- 
ing session at school and we will pick her up in 
Oakland.” 

As often as we had taken the trip through Oak- 


160 Mary in California 

land, I never tired of it. The beautiful school 
buildings, Lake Merritt lying blue below the brown 
hills, with the great white hall facing it, the fine 
municipal tower, all were most attractive to me. 

“How would you like to go up on top of the 
tower and see the prison?” asked the Doctor, on 
the Friday morning as we started to get Mary. 

“Where’s the prison, Daddy?” asked Trix. 

And, “Have we time?” I questioned. 

“Yes, we have time, and I’m rather curious to 
see it. It certainly is a healthy location for a lockup, 
and I should think would be quite difficult to escape 
from. The only access must be the elevator and 
perhaps a stairway. Let’s go.” 

Permission was easily obtained, and soon we were 
shooting up into the high tower, much to Trix’s 
unease. 

“Why do we go so fast?” she asked. “It makes 
me feel funny.” 

There were certain gates to be passed after we 
left the elevator. We were not allowed to go to 
the cells, but we did climb a steep spiral staircase 
with a uniformed attendant, and finally came out on 
a little balcony overlooking the town and surround- 
ing country. 

Trix was greatly excited, and wanted to hunt for 
the lake where Maria had often taken her. Then 
she found the distant grove that sheltered Mills 
College, with the brown hills back of it where she 
had often climbed. 

To the north lay Berkeley, with the University 
of California. To the east the charming Piedmont 


Tamalpais and Muir Woods — Trix Gets Lost 161 

hills, while across the bay San Francisco smiled 
on us from her many hills. Beyond was the Pacific, 
that we could not see, although the fresh breeze 
brought with it a smell of the ocean. 

“Do prisoners ever escape from here?” asked the 
Doctor. 

“I believe one man did once. At least he tried 
it. But most of them seem quite content to stay 
put,” answered our guide. “Have you time to stop 
and see the finger-print room?” he added. 

“Oh, Dad, what is it? Can’t we stop?” begged 
Trix. 

“We shall have to hurry, though,” answered her 
father. 

So we descended part of the little staircase and 
were led into a small room full of large books. 

“Where are the finger prints?” asked Trix. 

The gentleman in charge was amused. He bade 
Trix put her thumb on a purple-ink pad and then 
place it firmly on a piece of glass. She was surprised 
and delighted to see the strange criss-cross of lines 
that she had made. 

“That is your finger print,” he said gravely. 
“Nov/ if you ever get lost or do something naughty 
we can find you by the finger print.” 

“How could you? You’re just fooling,” re- 
sponded that young lady. 

“No, I’m not. Do you see all those books? 
Those contain the finger prints of most of the rogues 
west of the Rockies. It’s a fine collection, and no 
two of them alike.” 

“That always seems so strange,” I said. 


1 62 Mary in California 

“It is queer,” he answered. “No two thumbs in 
all the world make the same mark. Here’s one,” 
he added, opening one of his books. “It was made 
by a Chinaman we call Wing Wang. Heaven knows 
what his real name is. He was suspected of several 
crimes, the ringleader of a secret society that 
extends across the Pacific. But we couldn’t get any- 
thing on him, so we had to let him go. He’s quite 
young, too, and if ever a man had rascal written on 
his face, that fellow’has.” 

We departed after expressing our thanks, and I 
must say I felt glad when the iron gates shut back 
of us and we could descend freely in the elevator. 

“Most folks find it easier to get in than to get 
out,” our guide observed in parting. 

It was necessary to hurry now. We found Mary 
waiting outside the school, and all rushed for the 
trolley and then for the ferry, where we settled in 
temporary peace till we reached San Francisco. 
Then there was another rush to the Sausolito boat, 
which we reached just in time. 

A strong wind was blowing from the sea, and 
the bay was full of whitecaps. We sat in the bow 
of the boat and ate the wonderful lunch that Maria 
had prepared for us. But we had to hold our hats 
with one hand while we ate with the other. We 
passed Mare’s Island, with its navy building and a 
training ship anchored beside it, and then the island 
with rhe grim prisons looming stern and white in 
the sunshine. 

It was a beautiful trip, and we were almost sorry 
when we reached Sausolito, and changed to the train 


T amalpais and Muir Woods — Trix Gets Lost 163 

along with a crowd of people whose varied costumes 
filled Mary with delight. There were more khaki 
trousers in evidence than we were used to seeing 
in New England, and from the back it was hard 
to tell often whether the wearer was a man or a 
woman, though often the latter wore on her head 
a large hat and veil which contrasted strangely with 
her trousered legs. Walking trips around Tamalpais 
and Muir Woods were evidently popular among the 
young folks of the neighboring cities. 

The country was beautiful all along, but especially 
so when we took the mountain railroad and began 
the crooked climb to the top. Twisting and turning 
and looping, it wound its way over precipices and 
up fearful inclines. It often seemed as though the 
engine were about to leap into space. But some- 
how it stuck to the track, and finally the woods 
were passed and the bare summit loomed above 
us. 

The view began to open up about us, and wonder- 
ful it was. The air was so clear that we were 
assured by one of the other passengers that we 
would be able to catch a glimpse of white-capped 
Shasta, three hundred miles away. So we reached 
the top, where we found a comfortable hotel 
perched. 

Here we changed into tramping clothes and 
started to explore the bare summit. 

Trix was greatly impressed by the full sweep of 
the ocean to the west of us. She kept saying, 
“Daddy, is that really all water?” and “How far 
does it go, Daddy?” She was sure that the great 


164 Mary in California 

Sierras to the east were the Rocky Mountains of 
her beloved New Mexico. 

We looked through the great glasses and saw 
Mount Shasta as we had been led to hope. 

“Oh, if we could only go there some time and 
climb !” said Mary. “I do so want to climb a real' 
mountain.” 

“You did last summer in New Mexico,” I 
answered. 

“And got out of breath, too,” added her father, 
his eyes twinkling as he spoke. “One has to train 
carefully to be a mountain climber. But I am not 
denying that it would be fun.” 

We were all tired, for it had been a long day. 
So we ate an early supper and retired with the sun, 
which sank into the Pacific Ocean from a cloudless 
glory of gold. 

“We shall have a fine morning, I think,” said the 
Doctor as we turned in. 

But when we awoke in the morning a genie seemed 
to have transported the hotel elsewhere. Gone were 
ocean and land, and only the tip of Mount Tamalpais 
could be seen rising above the gray fog of early 
dawn which had come in from the ocean. But 
gradually the east colored, and suddenly the clouds 
were full of color like a great opal, soft pinks and 
yellows and blues spread below us. Then the sun 
rose through the fog, and the whole air was filled 
with light. 

“It is more beautiful than I could possibly imagine 
it,” said Mary. “I am glad we had the fog. It is 
wonderful.” 


Tamalpais and Muir Woods — Trix Gets Lost 165 

But before we had to leave the top, the fog had 
drifted away and the sun shone down on the finest 
view that one could wish to see. 

“But I am glad that beautiful mist was there at 
first, Daddy,” said Mary. “It was like drawing 
a curtain, when it went.” 

“If Dave were here, I know what he would be 
wishing for,” said the Doctor. 

“I know too — an aeroplane,” cried Trix. 

“Oh, it would be wonderful to be up in one. But 
you know, Daddy, I believe it was something like 
what you see from an aeroplane when we were look- 
ing down on that cloud of fog this morning.” 

We left Mount Tamalpais some time after lunch 
and descended part way, then changed to a branch 
road and so finally reached Muir Woods late in the 
afternoon. It was strange and mysterious after 
the bleak volcano we had left, bright in the full 
light of the sun. Here the track ran through dim 
woods and finally ended near a tiny settlement of 
rustic wooden houses, the Inn and its camps. 

“Mother, it is like a Hans Andersen fairy tale,” 
said Mary. “I am sure we will meet with the seven 
dwarfs at least.” 

The proprietor of the Inn showed us the camp 
we would occupy and then pointed out to us the 
trail to the redwood grove. The sunlight flickered 
through the pines, a quiet, peaceful light. It was 
hard to believe in the gorgeous colors in which the 
sun had clothed itself the evening before. 

We descended a steep path and finally found our- 
selves among the gigantic redwood trees. 


1 66 


Mary in California 

“They are older than the Roman Empire,” the 
Doctor told us. “And these are not the oldest nor 
biggest. Dave will be seeing the sequoias to-day, 
some of which are big enough to allow a carriage to 
pass through an arch cut through the trunk.” 

“Look, Mother, what is that beautiful bird 
there?” asked Mary. “Why, it’s some sort of blue 
jay, I do believe, only bigger and handsomer than 
the fellows at home. Come, Trix, let’s see how 
near we can get.” 

They crept away toward the bright blue creature, 
perching on a branch of one of the big trees. But 
he did not wait for them, but flew a little way and 
then sat and scolded until they got near again, when 
he repeated the performance. It seemed as if he 
were playing a game with them. 

There had evidently been a fire in the grove at 
some time not so long ago, for a few of the trees 
showed great charred scars where they had been 
burned. But the ancient giants were too hard and 
tough to be destroyed, and had survived the fire as 
they had the storms and the centuries. 

It was so silent. Only the scream of a jay or the 
song of some distant bird broke the stillness. Sud- 
denly we heard Mary call, “Trix, Trix, where are 
you? Are you hiding from me? Trix!” 

“I don’t like the idea of Trix running off alone 
in these woods,” said the Doctor, and he joined his 
voice to Mary’s. 

There was no answer. 

“Don’t you suppose she is hiding and will jump 
out and scare us?” I said. 


Tamalpais and Muir Woods — Trix Gets Lost 167 

“I don’t know. She must not run away here. It 
would be so easy to get lost.” 

So we all called, but there came no answer. Pres- 
ently Mary joined us. 

“We were following that old jay,” she explained, 
“and I had to stop to fix my shoe laces. I thought 
Trix was waiting but she must have gone on ahead. 
We had crossed the stream and were going up the 
other side.” 

“You don’t suppose she went up to the house?” 
I said. 

“Mary, show me where you were and then run 
up to the Inn and see if she is there. I will go up 
that other bank and call. Come back at once and 
report,” he added. 

So Mary pointed out the place she thought they 
had crossed and then ran off up the trail. 

“Tell them to send down some one if she isn’t 
there,” called the Doctor. “I am worried,” he 
added. 

We started up the steep wooded slope shouting 
Trix’s name at intervals. 

“I can’t understand how she could go so far,” 
observed the Doctor. “It can’t have been more 
than ten minutes before Mary missed her. In this 
stillness we ought to make ourselves heard at quite 
a distance.” 

Presently we were joined by Mary and two of 
the employees of the Inn. 

The short November day was drawing to a close, 
and the shadows lay heavy in the woods. We began 
to be very much troubled. The idea of poor J0II7 


1 68 


Mary in California 

little Trix all alone in those dark woods fairly made 
me sick. Every minute would take her farther 
away unless by some lucky chance she wandered 
toward us. The night would be cold, and who 
knows what wild animals might be lurking in the 
depth of the forest. 

Suddenly Mary said, “I am sure she couldn’t have 
gotten this far without hearing us. I believe she 
got into some trouble and doesn’t dare answer. 
Ugh, there must be a skunk around,” she added, 
with a sniff. 

“Maybe Mr. Brown’s skunks escaped,” said one 
of the men. “He has a family of them up near the 
Inn.” 

“Don’t go over that way,” cried Mary, “it’s 
getting stronger and stronger. He must be right 
there.” 

“Keep still for a second,” ordered the Doctor. 

We all stood silent. Not a sound could be heard 
but our own heart beats for two or three minutes. 

“I thought I heard a child crying,” said the 
Doctor. “I am sure I did,” and he darted forward. 

“Dad, the skunk must be over there,” called Mary 
in warning. 

But the Doctor was right. Crouching under a 
tree, sobbing, we found miserable Trixy, frightened 
and hating herself and the horrid black pussy that 
had led her astray, covered her with bad smells and 
then deserted. At her father’s orders, Trix re- 
moved her dress and the next moment was gathered 
into his arms, weeping hysterically. 

Mary sat down on the ground and laughed until 


Tamalpais and Muir Woods — Trix Gets Lost 169 

the tears rolled down her cheeks, while the two men 
bade us hasten home ere darkness came. But their 
voices were husky with merriment. Poor little 
Trix! Her adventure might have had a serious 
ending, but as it was, none of the rest of the party 
could quite get away from the funny side. 

“Why didn’t you answer, when we called?” asked 
her father, who had maintained a sympathetic 
gravity. 

“Oh, Daddy, I was scared to. I smelled so and 
it was my clean dress.” 

“How did you happen to follow the wood pussy?” 

“I was afraid she was lost,” sobbed Trix. “But 
I wish I hadn’t. I thought it was a nice kitty.” 

This was too much for me. Perhaps the relief 
from our late anxiety made me light-headed, but I 
had hard work to keep from bursting into laughter. 
Even the Doctor’s gravity suffered, and he gave 
forth a queer snorting sound. 

The way did not seem so far back, and presently 
we saw the lights at the Inn twinkling like stars 
through the darkness. There were long strings of 
them leading from camp to camp. 

“It is a German fairy story, Mother,” said Mary. 
“Ail those lights are like Christmas candles and we 
are bringing home the lost princess.” 

At this innocent remark from Mary, the Doctor 
suddenly burst out laughing. “I’d hate to say who 
the enchanted Prince must be,” he managed to say 
between snickers. “Oh, Trix, Trix, you scared us 
awfully, but you certainly have given us a funny 
adventure.” 


170 Mary in California 

“Daddy, you’re horrid,” said Mary. “Imagine 
even a very bad fairy turning a prince into a skunk.” 

I washed Trix as best I could, and she ate her 
supper clothed in a clean nightie and wrapper. She 
had recovered from her misery and fear, and was 
hungry and happy. But she gave me an extra hug 
as I tucked her in that night. “Mother, I’m glad 
I’m not in the big woods alone,” she whispered. 


CHAPTER XIII 


WE MEET EL LOBO AND HAVE AN ADVENTURE AT 
BOLINAS 

W E were awakened early the next morning by 
a hungry blue jay, who perched on a big tree 
right beside our cabin and announced himself loudly. 
Indeed, there were a number of these beautiful crea- 
tures about and they were exceedingly tame, not to 
say bold. 

“If their voices weren’t so awful, Mother,” said 
Mary. “They have such lovely clothes, but when 
they screech like that, it’s horrid.” 

“Well,” remarked some one, “I remember once 
seeing a charming girl leaning out of a window. 
She was as pretty as a picture till she opened her 
mouth to call to her little sister who was somewhere 
down the block.” 

“Now, Mother, that’s mean.” 

“I didn’t say who it was !” I replied. “But voices 
are quite as important as clothes. Perhaps Mr. Jay 
would be too perfect if he could sing beautifully. 
However, he did us a good turn this morning, for 
we have to make an early start.” 

It had been decided not to take the train, but 
to walk down through the woods and meet the 
Bolinas stage at the crossroads over the downs at 
the foot of the mountain. But before we went, the 


172 Mary in California 

Inn keeper led Trix and Mary to see his pet skunks. 
He had a whole family of them, and took one of the 
babies up in his hand. 

“They are only unpleasant when they are 
frightened,” he told them. “The little ones, they 
are like kittens, they will play and run after things.” 

Trix, after her experience of the day before, was 
afraid to touch them, but Mary took one of them 
up and was delighted at its soft fur and pretty 
ways. 

After breakfast we started down the trail through 
the woods, feeling like early explorers. It seemed 
something of an undertaking to reach the cross- 
roads in time for the stage when not one of us had 
been there before or knew the way. But the Doctor 
was sure we could do it, and so we started through 
the mysterious woods. 

“Somewhere about here is a grove where they 
hold a festival called the ‘High Jinks,’ ” the Doctor 
told us as we walked along. “It consists of some 
beautiful pageant or other and is attended by artists 
and notables generally. I have often wished I could 
see it. These tall trees certainly make a perfect 
stage setting.” 

It was a rough road we had to travel after we 
left the pines and came out on more open rolling 
country. We saw herds of cattle on the near-by 
hills as we followed a stream dow T n through a 
gully. 

“I’d hate to meet El Lobo here,” said Mary 
suddenly. “It’s awfully lonesome country, isn’t 
it?” 


W e Meet El Lobo — An Adventure at Bolinas 173 

“I’d hate to meet him anywhere,” remarked her 
father, who couldn’t bear to hear the bandit men- 
tioned. “But it is a wild place. I think of the 
Lorna Doone country as being like this, the downs 
of Dartmoor. Can’t you imagine those picturesque 
ruffians galloping about here, or John Ridd riding 
off to find Lorna? I am getting to love the brown 
hills, though I never thought I would. Of course the 
rains have freshened them up a lot.” 

It was a gray day, and as we reached the lower 
country we found mist enveloping the tops of the 
hills, making them look higher and more mysterious. 

Much to my astonishment, we finally reached the 
crossroads, fully half an hour before the stage was 
due. It was a silent, lonely place, with a few cattle 
afar off and one solitary farm. We sat down beside 
the road, for Trixy at least was pretty tired after 
her cross-country tramp. Presently we heard the 
sound of a motor cycle, which annoyed the Doctor. 

“Fancy using a noisy thing like that in this ro- 
mantic, uncivilized spot,” he grumbled. “I wonder 
who the wretch can‘be?” 

He did not have to wonder long, for the motor 
cycle came in sight at that moment, going at a 
fearful rate of speed. Just as it approached some- 
thing apparently went wrong with the front wheel, 
and in a moment machine and rider lay in the ditch. 
We all ran at once to help. 

Mary outdistanced us, and called out, “Dad, it’s 
El Lobo ! It can’t be possible !” 

“I hope it finished him,” murmured her father. 

But when he came to get the fallen cyclist from 


174 Mary in California 

the wreck of the machine, El Lobo seemed only 
stunned and cut about the head. 

“You can’t kill that creature,” said the Doctor 
disgustedly. “Now if it had been somebody worth 
while — ” 

“I don’t care who he is, I’m glad he isn’t killed, 
Dad,” Mary remarked. “And I believe you are 
too.” 

Presently the man opened his eyes, and his 
surprise was laughable. Surely we were the last 
people he expected to see. Then he smiled unpleas- 
antly. 

“You said I could not get the ring, Senorita,” he 
laughed, looking at Mary. “But I have him here,” 
and he pointed to his breast. 

“Look here, my man,” the Doctor said sharply. 
“Don’t say another word to my daughter. If you 
do, I’ll give you up to the police. Remember you 
are wanted at Santa Fe and other places.” 

El Lobo scowled, and I really do not know which 
made his face more unpleasant, his smile or his 
frown. 

“You had better leave me alone,” he said. “The 
society to which I belong would take quick revenge 
if I were given to the police. You know the red 
and black cord? The red is blood, the blood of our 
enemies.” 

“Don’t be a fool,” the Doctor replied. “That 
may be all right down in old Mexico, but in the East 
where I live they keep men like you shut up where 
they belong.” 

El Lobo muttered, “Try it and see,” but as he 


W e Meet El Lobo — An Adventure at Bolinas 175 

attempted to get to his feet, he fell back and turned 
very white. 

“He’s probably hurt more than I thought,” said 
the Doctor. “I wish a car would come along that 
could take him to some town. I am afraid there 
may not be room for him in the stage. Perhaps we 
could get him to that farmhouse. Mary, you run 
up there and ask for help.” 

“I thought you wanted him to be killed,” said 
Mary. 

“Don’t be foolish, child. A doctor always wants 
to help,” I said. “Run as fast as you can.” 

It seemed a long time before Mary returned with 
two men and a small auto. In the meanwhile all 
the Doctor’s efforts to revive the bandit were in 
vain. He went back to the farm with the others, 
leaving the rest of us to wait for the stage. 

About ten minutes later the great lumbering car 
came in sight. We could hear it puffing away from 
a distance, even before we saw it. There was barely 
room for us all, and Trix had to sit on her father’s 
lap. 

“What did you do with Lobo?” I asked. 

“He is pretty badly hurt internally, I think. The 
farm people promised to take him into Sausalito this 
afternoon. He seems to have as many lives as a 
cat, so he may pull through. I did all I could for 
him in the short time I had. I feel as though I 
ought to have stayed by him. But keeping him 
quiet is about all he needs now till they get him to 
a hospital. The men at the farm promised to rig 
up a sort of bed for him in the car and drive care- 


176 Mary in California 

fully. They were going to ’phone to a doctor who 
comes around to see them when they need one. But 
I feel like a deserter.” 

“If you are going to be miserable about it, why 
don’t you go back?” I asked. “We shall probably 
meet a car going in that direction before long. You 
could get a lift.” 

“But you and the children! I don’t know when 
I could join you. If I went back at all, I’d feel 
that I had to go on with them this afternoon and 
get him to the hospital. No, I think I won’t go back. 
If they do what they say and get that other doctor, 
it will be all right.” 

To the relief of all of us, we met a car not much 
later which our chauffeur informed us held the local 
medical man. We hailed him and learned that he 
was coming in response to a call from the farm. 
The two doctors exchanged all necessary informa- 
tion, and then the stage proceeded on its way, with 
a rumble and creaking. 

Presently the road came out on the cliffs, and we 
could see straight down hundreds of feet, it seemed, 
to the sea rolling below us. 

“I would hate to meet any one on this road,” said 
Mary. “It’s always going around corners where you 
can’t see ahead, and it’s not very wide anywhere. I 
wish he wouldn’t go so fast.” 

It was a wild, beautiful country, and we traveled 
over places that seemed impossible to eastern eyes. 
At last the village of Bolinas could be seen across 
a bay, and the road descended rapidly to sea level. 

“This was certainly worth doing,” said the 


W e Meet El Lobo — An Adventure at Bolinas 177 

Doctor. “I would not have missed that drive for a 
lot. I fancy the old stage drivers and the pony 
express men went just that way, dashing around 
corners in a fashion that apppeared reckless, but was 
really perfectly safe.” 

“What was the pony express, Dad?” asked Mary. 
“I remember seeing a stamp in your old collection 
marked ‘Pony Express.’ I always wondered what 
it was.” 

“It was the mail route between Salt Lake City in 
Utah and Sacramento. When California became a 
state in 1850, it was about three thousand miles from 
the central government. Mail came via Panama and 
took twenty-one days, and came about twice a month. 
Later there sprang up a stage route going through 
Los Angeles, New Mexico, and Texas. That took 
about as long as the steamer route, but came twice 
a week. Then some brilliant fellow, a man named 
Russell, I think, got the idea of sending light mail 
by pony across the Sierras. It took just ten days. 
Think of it! They traveled at the rate of twenty 
miles an hour and the men were selected for light 
weight as well as courage and skill. They had relays 
of horses at frequent intervals, and changed the 
men also, but not so often.” 

“But it must have been terribly hard. How could 
horses go that fast?” asked Mary. 

“They couldn’t, for long. But I remember the 
story of one fellow who was known as ‘Pony Bob.’ 
There was a war with the Paiuti Indians on just 
then, and when Bob got to the place where he was 
to change — he had ridden seventy-five miles, by the 


178 Mary in California 

way — the other man refused to go on for fear of the 
redskins. So Pony Bob, nothing daunted, started 
off on a fresh horse and rode one hundred and ten 
miles farther, only stopping to eat and to change 
horses. 

“He rested up for nine hours, and then started 
back. When he got to one of the stations he found, 
to his horror, that the Indians had been before him, 
had killed the men and taken off the horses. So he 
had to go on with the same pony.” 

“He was a wonder, Daddy. I don’t believe 
people nowadays could ride like that,” said Mary. 

“I’d hate to have to myself,” answered her father. 

“It must have cost quite a bit,” I remarked. 

“I believe they charged five dollars for every half 
ounce, which was a good deal of money for those 
days. But people did not write as many letters then 
as they do now. 

“Those pony riders had to contend with the snows 
of the Sierras as well as dangers from Indians. But 
they seemed to get through every time. One man 
rode between Santa Fe and a town in Missouri, a 
distance of eight hundred miles, in five days and 
thirteen hours.” 

“You mean one man rode all that way without 
any rest, Daddy?” 

“He didn’t have time to rest, and he only changed 
horses in every one hundred miles or so.” 

“If that was nowadays the Society for the Preven- 
tion of Cruelty to Animals would get after him,” I 
said. 

“I imagine the horses had to suffer as well as their 


W e Meet El Lobo — An Adventure at Bolinas 179 

masters. But the riders were usually very fond of 
their mounts. Only of course the mail had to get 
through on time. They were a wonderful lot. I 
suppose the Union Pacific Railroad is safer and 
faster, but it would have been fun to travel west with 
the Overland Mail.” 

By this time Bolinas was close at hand, a strag- 
gling village broken up into groups of houses, and 
presently we stopped in front of the post office, 
where every one got out. The Doctor had made 
some inquiries of the stage driver, and had found 
that he knew of two places at least where food and 
rooms could be had. One was close at hand and 
desirable on that account. For, “I’m half starved,” 
Mary had been saying, and Trix clamored for her 
lunch. The other hostelry was on the bluff over- 
looking the water. 

“If they can take us, I vote we go there for the 
night,” said the Doctor. “We want to be near the 
water and get all the swimming we can. But let 
us eat at once in the place near by.” 

So this was agreed on, and every one felt better 
after a delicious dinner. We found by ’phoning that 
the house on the heights could accommodate us. So 
we hired a man to take us the short distance, bag 
and baggage, for the Doctor had decided that he 
was tired of carrying things. The street was a 
pleasant one, and the climb to the bluffs not difficult. 
The house commanded a view of the scattered com- 
munity about, and the great cliffs and the long sandy 
beach below that stretched for miles. 

It was not long before bathing suits were donned 


180 Mary in California 

by Mary and the Doctor, and the four of us were 
sitting lazily on the beach. The waves rolled in and 
broke in lines of white surf. Trix and I had become 
discouraged and had decided not to try the swim- 
ming. 

“I like this,” said the Doctor. “It’s so peaceful.” 

“Aren’t you ever going in?” demanded Mary. 

“Oh, presently. But it looks very cold in spite 
of the sunny afternoon and I want to take my time 
about it. I hope you all brought down your 
sweaters.” 

“You ought to know, Daddy,” remarked Mary, 
“for your head is resting on a pile of them.” 

The lazy blue waves proved even colder than they 
looked, and neither of the bathers stayed in long. 
They came out spluttering and shivering. But they 
said it was worth all the time and trouble to get 
into the clear water and be tossed about by the 
whole Pacific Ocean, as the Doctor phrased it. 

“Is it the whole ocean?” Trix asked in wonder. 
“This that we see? Where does it go to and what 
is an ocean?” 

“It’s a big piece of water like a lake only lots, 
lots bigger, and it goes way over to China, where 
all the Chinamen who wait on the table at Mills 
come from,” answered her father. “Let’s have a 
race on the beach to get warm.” 

“But I want to know what makes the waves so 
big when they look so little and soft,” Trix con- 
tinued. 

“I am afraid I can’t answer that. But we had 
a pretty nice bath in this big tub, didn’t we, Mary?” 


W e Meet El Lobo — An Adventure at Bolinas 181 

“I guess so. But one dip was enough for me I 
Ugh! Let’s go up and dress.” 

It was decided to take our supper down to the 
beach. So we next went shopping and bought sup- 
plies for a picnic at a pleasant little store. 

“Where do you suppose El Lobo was going when 
we met him traveling so fast?” asked Mary as we 
wandered toward the shore. 

“I have been wondering that myself,” the Doctor 
answered. “Wherever it was he was in too much 
of a hurry.” 

“Do you suppose we shall ever hear how he gets 
on?” Mary said. 

“Maybe so. They know my name and address 
at the farm. I told them to let me know what hap- 
pened, just out of idle curiosity.” 

“Did you tell them his name?” 

“Yes, I thought it was about time the authorities 
knew where he was.” 

We had wandered along the shore for some dis- 
tance and finally sat down at a rocky place with the 
great bluffs above us. Here the Doctor and Trix 
made a fire, and we cooked bacon and eggs. We 
ate our modest supper, with the noise of the surf 
in our ears, just as unconcernedly as if it had been 
the coast of Maine. It seemed strange to think of 
seven-year-old Trix on the shores of the Pacific. She 
had been playing in a little pool of water in the 
rocks, and presently called out, “Mother, the pool 
I was playing with has all gone into the ocean. 
What’s the matter with it?” 

At the same moment Mary remarked specula- 


1 82 Mary in California 

tively, “You know, that rock I was looking at when 
we first came has disappeared.” 

“That looks as if the tide were coming in. I think 
we’d better start home,” said the Doctor. 

We gathered our things together quickly, but were 
troubled to see how narrow the beach had become. 
We were forced right against the bluffs in some 
places. 

“We have come farther than we thought,” I said. 
“Can we get back?” 

“We may have to go up the cliff,” laughed Mary. 
“Of course we can get back. But it’s a pity we 
haven’t Dave’s aeroplane.” 

Presently we came to a place where the water 
seemed to have cut in. There appeared to be a 
path leading to the top of the bluffs, but for a 
few yards our way over the beach was blocked. 

“I don’t like this,” said the Doctor. “I wish we 
had Dave’s aeroplane indeed. We shall have to go 
up that path.” 

At that moment we saw descending it a man whose 
general appearance did not appear reassuring. He 
was evidently Chinese, though clothed like an 
American of the poorer class. He was young, and 
with a most unpleasant face. For some reason I 
thought of the finger-print man and his description 
of Wing Wang. However, the newcomer answered 
the Doctor’s questions civilly enough, and informed 
us that the climb to the top was short but hard, and 
that we had better not try the beach again. 

He held up his hand as he directed us. On his 
little finger he wore a silver ring. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE ROAD FROM BOLINAS AND AN INVITATION TO, 
A BASEBALL GAME 

D ID you see the ring on that Chinaman’s hand, 
Daddy?” Mary exclaimed softly to her father., 
“I am sure that it is like mine or is mine. And that 
man, he looks like the Chinaman who stole it from' 
you on the boat going over to San Francisco.” 

“That’s right, he does. I was wondering where 
we had seen him before.” 

“And I wonder if he isn’t the man whose finger 
prints they had in the Oakland jail,” I remarked. 
“Somehow he suggests the description that was given 
us there of Wing Wang, or whatever they called 
him.” 

We walked along the path for a short distance 
discussing the affair. The Doctor was speculating 
as to what had brought him there and whether the 
stolen ring would enable the Oakland police to get 
the man they had long been seeking a pretext to 
catch. 

“I should not wonder if the same business brought 
him and El Lobo,” he added. “They seem to be 
a precious pair of rascals.” 

At that moment we met two men of rather 
ordinary appearance, who asked us if we had seen 
a Chinaman. 


183 


184 Mary \ in California 

“He was dressed like a plain American, but you 
could tell he was Chinese,” the newcomer said. 

“Is anything wrong?” demanded the Doctor. 
“We saw such a one about ten minutes ago. He was 
going toward the beach, but what he will do there 
I can’t see unless he is off for a swim.” 

“Is the beach covered?” questioned the stranger. 

“Yes, the tide nearly caught us. Who is this 
fellow anyway, you are hunting? He looks like a 
tough customer.” 

“He is, just that. He’s wanted for a number 
of things. We are plain-clothes men from San 
Francisco. We’re after him to-day for a daring 
holdup on the Sausalito road. He stopped an auto 
taking a man to the hospital. The man will probably 
die as a result. But the two other men with the 
sick man fought off the bandit and gave us a descrip- 
tion which enabled us to trace him thus far. We 
must hurry on now.” 

“Good luck to you. What did you say his name 
was?” the Doctor questioned. 

“He’s known as Wing Wang. This is the first 
thing we’ve ever been able to land on him although 
he’s known to have been mixed up in a lot of other 
things. 

“It looks as though El Lobo had come to grief 
again,” I observed, as the men hurried away. 

“He’d better not have stolen the ring,” said 
Mary. “I told him he had no right to it and that 
the other fellows would kill him if they knew he 
had it.” 

The day was fast growing to a close and the 


The Road from Bolinas 185 

light so dim by this time that we had hard work 
to keep on the path which wound along toward the 
village. 

Suddenly we heard a whirring noise which grew 
louder, and presently an aeroplane came into sight 
flying fairly low, so that it just missed the tops of 
the trees. 

“It is going to land somewhere near,” Mary 
cried. “I bet you it’s after that Chinaman.” 

“I wonder,” said her father, almost equally ex- 
cited. “I’d like to see. They can’t land on the 
beach, but I suppose he may know of a way to get 
up again, farther along. There are plenty of places 
on the bluffs.” 

The aeroplane flew a little farther, and then we 
could hear the changed sound of the engine as the 
machine came to earth. It was so dark now that 
we could see nothing. Then we heard the firing 
of shots. 

“Oh, Dad, we must wait and see what happens. 
Can’t we go back?” begged Mary. 

“I should think not,” I replied. But I could see 
that the Doctor was as eager as Mary. 

“They may need help,” he said. “I wonder if I 
ought to go back.” 

“Of course you ought,” Mary cried. 

“It seems to me that we need you at this moment 
more than those detectives,” observed some one. 

But while we stood in hesitation, waiting, there 
came a second volley of shots and then the whirring 
of the aeroplane could be plainly heard, as the 
machine rose from the ground. 


1 86 


Mary in California 

“Whatever has happened is all over,” said the 
Doctor regretfully. 

“Somebody may be hurt. You ought to go and 
see,” Mary suggested. 

“There is some truth in that. But it’s so dark 
now I don’t believe I could find my path. However, 
I’ll go a little way and call out.” 

“I think Trix should get back to our boarding 
place,” I said firmly. “I shall start on with her 
and Mary. It will be hard enough to get there as 
it is in the dark and not knowing just how to go.” 

“You are perfectly right. Just wait a minute and 
then we’ll all go on together,” the Doctor replied, 
much to Mary’s disgust. 

It was not long before we heard voices and the 
two plain-clothes men reappeared, carrying with 
them a limp form. 

“Did you get him?” queried the Doctor. 

“We did, by all that’s lucky,” answered one. 
“We had quite a fight for it and he almost made his 
get-away. But there was only one man in the ma- 
chine and he had to look after his engine, so we 
caught our fellow. He’s pretty well smashed. He 
tried to get into the aeroplane just as it was starting, 
but a shot took him in the arm and he tumbled off. 
We ought to get him to a doctor.” 

“Dad’s a doctor,” cried Trix, her eyes big with 
excitement. 

“That’s lucky. Will you come along with us? I 
suppose you can’t tell anything here, it’s so dark,” 
the detective said. 

“You might as well get him to a house,” answered 


The Road from Bolinas 187 

the Doctor. “And I want to take my family to the 
place where we are staying.’’ 

We lost our way several times, but presently 
reached the Inn. The good lady who kept it was 
more than astonished at the procession that entered, 
and was not over pleased to have a wounded prisoner 
deposited with her while the Doctor examined his 
hurts and one of the detectives went for an auto to 
take him away. 

I hurried Trix and Mary upstairs, to their great 
disappointment. But it was fully eight o’clock and 
high time for Trix to be in bed. 

Presently Mary, who had been leaning over the 
banisters to get any information possible, joined me 
with the news that they were taking the Chinaman 
away. 

“I think he is badly hurt,” she added. “Oh, 
Mother, what will they do about my ring, do you 
suppose?” 

“I don’t know,” I answered. “But I hope they’ll 
bury it somewhere.” 

Pretty soon the Doctor reappeared. 

“They are taking him to the hospital,” he said. 
“But I doubt if it does much good. He is in a serious 
condition. It is curious to think of El Lobo and him 
in the same ward, maybe, with the two rings in their 
possession. No good luck came to either of them 
from wearing them.” 

“Daddy, it was my ring he was wearing, wasn’t 
it? And where do you suppose El Lobo got the 
other one?” 

“I am sure I don’t know. But from what I can 


1 88 Mary in California 

gather from that detective, this Chinaman was head 
of some secret society. I imagine El Lobo aspired 
also and thought the ring would help his claim. 
Wing Wang didn’t care for the idea of a rival, and 
having had his ring stolen in some way by El Lobo, 
he promptly stole yours. I think it had better stay 
with him and be buried, if necessary.” 

“Now, Daddy, that’s just what Mother said. But 
I want my ring again.” 

“There looks to be small chance of your get- 
ting it, so you might as well give it up. And 
now to bed. We have had a long and exciting 
day. Let us hope that we may now settle down in 
peace.” 

Mary joined Trix, protesting that she was not at 
all tired, and the Doctor and I sat for a while in our 
room, in the darkness, looking out toward the ocean 
and the starlit sky and hearing the long slow sound 
of the waves breaking on the sand. 

The next morning we found ourselves bright and 
early at the post office, where we mounted the stage. 
We had more room to spread ourselves out on the 
return trip, and to enjoy the wonderful country. 
There might be dozens of smugglers’ caves along 
that sandy shore below us, with the great cliffs rising 
sheer above. And the rolling brown hills might 
shelter any number of bandits. 

“It is no wonder that one meets with adventure 
in this wild, romantic country,” said the Doctor. 
“But what a shame that they use motor cycles and 
aeroplanes instead of horses. I would like to gallop 
over these downs on John Ridd’s great horse.” 


The Road from Botinas 189 

Mary asked the chauffeur whether there were any 
smugglers along the coast. 

“There are more below on the Channel Islands,” 
he answer. “Sometimes we get them here — a Jap or 
two may come in, or a gallon of whiskey. But they 
are not so plentiful. The revenue officers keep a 
pretty good lookout and the summer folks live on 
the beaches. Did you go around any here?” 

“No, we just stayed on the beach,” answered 
Mary. 

“You should have had a drive. There are some 
wonderful trees and wooded hills back a bit. Not 
to mention the split in the ground made by the big 
earthquake.” 

“Did you feel it much here?” I questioned. 

“Yes, indeed. As I just told you, it made a great 
cleft in the earth, a regular canon. They are bad 
things, those earthquakes.” 

“Daddy, what are earthquakes? Do they eat 
you up?” asked Trix anxiously. “And will there 
be another one here?” 

“I hope not, for some time to come,” answered 
the chauffeur. “One was enough for me. But they 
aren’t animals, kid, just big shakes of the ground, 
that make the houses tumble down.” 

“What makes the ground shake? How can it?” 

“Well, I’ve had it explained to me, but I guess 
your Pa could tell you more about it.” 

“Tell me, Daddy,” Trix repeated. 

“Mary, could you explain to us?” asked her 
father. 

“I don’t know. I’ll try. I remember reading a 


190 Mary in California 

lot about it in the ‘Book of Knowledge.’ Suppose, 
Trixy, that the earth was like an apple. If the inside 
of the apple changed or shrank or got smaller or 
anything, the outside skin would change. Maybe 
it would get wrinkles on it, like mountains, or 
hollows. So the inside of the earth changes and 
the surface or skin that we see changes with it. 
Sometimes it changes very slowly, and it takes hun- 
dreds of hundreds of years. But sometimes the 
outside changes quickly, all of a sudden, and the 
earth splits or sinks or is thrown up into a moun- 
tain. Then it’s an earthquake. Parts of the crust 
are thinner than other parts, so that one is more 
likely to have earthquakes. They begin under the 
sea sometimes, too, don’t they, Daddy?” 

“Yes, and that causes what is called a tidal wave, 
when the sea rolls in on the land in a great wall of 
water. It does not occur very often where people 
can see it. Earthquakes are more usual in places 
where a strange thing known as a fault occurs. 
That’s a queer name to give to ground. But do 
you remember the different layers of rock in the 
Grand Canon, Mary, some of them red, some blue, 
some gray? Sometimes a layer, or stratum, will be 
found sloping or turned up on its side instead of 
lying flat. This happened long ago in an early part 
of the earth’s history. It is called a ‘fault,’ and 
seems to be particularly good ground for earth- 
quakes. There is a ‘fault’ somewhere in these parts 
which accounts for the shakings that have occurred. 
Earthquakes also like the neighborhood of vol- 
canoes. Do you know what a volcano is, Mary?” 


The Road from Bolinas 19 1 

“Sure, Daddy.” 

“Well, what is it?” 

“I know, but it’s hard to explain. It’s a hollow 
mountain with a hole in the top through which come 
explosions. I suppose the heat and the gases from 
the middle of the earth come out through them and 
bring lire and brimstone with them. And lava ! 
Just what is lava?” 

“Nothing but melted rock which flows out from 
the top or the fissures or cracks of the volcano. It 
flows down like a thick burning mass and finally cools 
off and gets solid again. Very unpleasant stuff when 
hot, I believe. Perhaps you may remember reading 
about the lava in Herculaneum and Pompeii, which 
were cities in Italy and destroyed a long time ago. 
Did you ever read ‘The Last Days of Pompeii’?” 

“Yes, I loved it. But it must have been awful to 
be there. I guess I’d rather read about volcanoes 
than live near one. At least unless it was one that 
didn’t work any more!” 

“I think I agree with you. Yet there are plenty 
of people who do live near them. I suppose they 
hope that the volcanoes have stopped going off. 
Italy has several. Tamalpais was one once. These 
towns around the bay here make me think of Italy 
and the Mediterranean. 

“Here we are at Sausalito. I wonder how long 
we shall have to wait for the boat?” 

“Not long, I reckon,” the chauffeur said. “Just 
set on the dock for a while. I think I see her coming 
in. She’s about off Alcatraz now.” 

We paid our driver and regretfully parted from 


192 Mary in California 

the stage; for we had enjoyed our trip from start 
to finish. 

It was pleasant to watch the tame white gulls on 
the high posts of the dock or fishing in the blue 
water. Mary and Trix bought some ice-cream 
cones and sandwiches which we ate while awaiting 
the ferry. 

‘‘Mary will get back to school just in time for 
afternoon session,” I said. 

“Oh, dear! I wish I didn’t have to! Can’t we 
stay and go on board one of the warships? You 
promised we could, Daddy.” 

“I think we must put that off until some Saturday. 
I ought to get back myself to-day.” 

“But, Daddy, you said you would write to a 
surgeon you knew who could take us over one of 
the ships when it wasn’t a holiday.” 

“I did write, but I haven’t had any answer, which 
makes me think he isn’t with the fleet.” 

“But, Daddy, there may be a letter waiting for 
you now at Mills. Won’t you ’phone when we get 
back to San Francisco? I am sure Miss Vincent 
would look and see if there was any letter for you 
from Frisco.” 

“Suppose there were? I ought to get back, and 
so ought you.” 

“But just try.” 

“I can see no harm in that. I will ’phone Miss 
Vincent when we get over to San Francisco. But 
I won’t make any further promises.” 

The trip across the bay was perfect. Never had 
the white building of the prison island looked so 


The Road from Bolinas IQ3 

dramatic against the blue of sea and sky. Never had 
the Golden Gate stood out so clearly, without trace 
of mist or cloud. 

As we approached San Francisco and caught sight 
of the masts of the battleships and cruisers against 
the sky, Mary and Trix again begged to be allowed 
to visit them. But nothing further could be gained 
from the Doctor. 

“Wait till we ’phone,” was all the reply he would 
make. 

It seemed a long time while the ferryboat was 
docking, and the ’phone booth sought and connec- 
tions with Mills College established. Mary and Trix 
hung to the door handle and made their faces look 
as appealing as possible while the Doctor ’phoned. 
Finally he emerged. 

“Nothing to-day,” he said with a melancholy ex- 
pression. “School for Mary, home for Mother and 
Trix, desk for me.” 

“Wasn’t there any letter?” asked Mary. 

“Well,” answered her father as we walked briskly 
toward the Oakland ferry with its big yellow boats, 
“I didn’t say that. In fact, I believe there is a 
letter.” 

“Oh, Daddy, you must tell us. What did it 
say?” 

“I can’t tell all that it said, but I believe it con- 
tains an invitation to lunch and to see a baseball 
game between the Navy and soldiers from the 
Presidio.” 

“Oh, Daddy, that’s too wonderful ! Is it for all 
of us?” 


194 Mary in California 

“Can I go? Can Dave go?” demanded Trix, 
dancing about excitedly. 

“I wish we could get Dave. He has just been 
away for a week-end, though. But we’ll do our 
best. Do you really think you would like to go, 
Trixy?” 

Trixy waved her arms about wildly and beat with 
her little fists on her father’s arms. 

“Does that mean yes, or no?” he asked. “It 
might mean anything.” 

“Now, Daddy, of course she wants to go. Don’t 
be horrid,” said Mary. “Who is it who is asking 
us? Tell us all about him. Isn’t it fine of him?” 

“He was a surgeon on the transport that took me 
across during the war. And when I came back he 
happened to be on the same boat. Also I saw him 
over in France.” 

“Then you haven’t known him long?” Mary 
asked. 

“Men got to know each other quickly in those 
days. I know him well enough to admire him 
greatly. His name is Brewster, and he hails from 
New England, I believe.” 

“What does he look like?” 

“Gracious, I don’t know. Brown hair, two gray 
eyes, one nose, one mouth — ” 

“Now, Daddy! Is he tall or fat or handsome?” 

“I rather think he’s not very tall, shorter than 
I. Yes, I know he was shorter than I, because I 
tried to wear his coat one night. And his head is 
smaller than mine, because I couldn’t get his cap on. 

“He’s a good sport all right. Our transport was 


195 


The Road from Botinas 

chased by a U-boat for over an hour one morning, 
and while most of us sat on deck trying to think of 
last words to say, Brewster took a bath. He said 
that if the boat went down he might as well go to 
heaven clean. If we escaped he needed a tub to 
begin the day right. So he got his tub, and an 
English stewardess served tea. They were wonder- 
ful, those two. I’ll never forget that trim English 
woman with a life belt on, handing round the tray. 
I’d like to see her again. But Brewster’s a good 
fellow. I’ll be glad to see him. I’ll be glad to see 
his letter.” 

Trix seized her father’s hands and began to sing 
in a sort of chant, “I’ll be glad, I’ll be glad, I’ll be 
glad, I’ll be glad” — much to the amusement of the 
rest of the passengers. 

We left Mary in front of the high school for her 
afternoon session. 

“She seems rather pleased at going back to 
school,” observed the Doctor. “I wonder how many 
times she will mention the trip to the ships and 
luncheon on board a real cruiser with real officers 
and a ball game afterward.” 

“It doesn’t do any harm. Of course she’ll enjoy 
telling it,” I said. 

“Surely. And when she comes home to-night, it 
will be the letter she will want first of all.” 

So it proved. Mary’s first question was for the 
letter, and had we read and might she read it? She 
tried to snatch it from her father’s hand, when he 
came home a little later, and became wildly indignant 
when he threatened to change his clothes for supper 


196 Mary in California 

before reading it aloud. But finally he capitulated, 
and sat down on the porch and took out his letter 
from Dr. Brewster from the envelope with great 
deliberation. 

“Dear Doc: 

“Your letter was the best news I’ve had for a 
year of Sundays. I surely will be glad to see you 
and the Missus and the kids. Did you bring along 
the cat and the dog? I am not sure how many you 
said were in your party. 

“There’s going to be a ball game on Saturday 
next, sort of Thanksgiving celebration or other. 
Can’t you all lunch with me here cn the boat and 
then go over and cheer for the Navy? Of course 
if you insist on sitting with your old buddies on the 
khaki side, you’re welcome. But I insist that the 
girls at least sit with me. Have you any boys 
along? 

“Come early, as we shall have early mess that 
day, and the youngsters ought to see this old ship 
that has three U-boats to her credit. I’ll expect five 
at least. I really mean it. I’ll surely be awfully 
disappointed if you don’t show up. Come to Dock 
No. 00 at 1 1 130 sharp, and one of our boys will be 
looking for you. Watch for the name Resolute. 

“Yours disrespectfully, 

“Tom Brewster.” 

“That certainly sounds as if he wanted us ! 
Daddy, you’ll cheer for the Navy, won’t you? Oh, 
I just love blue jackets,” said Mary enthusiastically. 

“I guess we’ll all cheer for the Navy,” laughed 
the Doctor. “Brewster certainly is a brick.” 


CHAPTER XV 

FROM THE SEQUOIAS TO THE “RESOLUTE” 

D EAR Mother, and Daddy, and Mary and Trix, n 
wrote Dave. “I am sending this to all of you. 
Because I haven’t time to write to each one. We 
got back awfully late to school, not till Tuesday. So 
I can’t come next Saturday to see the boats. Can’t 
you go some other time? I do want to go on board 
one of them. 

“I had a bully time with the Nortons. Only Mrs* 
Norton kept asking me if I wanted to go up in an 
aeroplane. It was so pretty in the park. The trees 
were so big! Some of them are over 250 feet tall 
and some of them are over 3000 years old. They 
were living before the flood I guess. One of them 
tumbled over a few years ago and we drove on it in 
our auto. Some people built a camp on it last sum- 
mer. I felt as if I was in a big church in the grove. 
There were lots of birds and we saw some elk and 
other deer. We saw some bear tracks. It was 
awfully cold and there was hardly any one there. 
We spent one night camping and one of the rangers 
came and sat by our camp fire and told us lots of 
stories. There were some forest fires last summer 
and the campers helped put it out. He was awfully 
nice. 

“I want to go camping there in summer and climb 
up Moro again. That’s a big rocky mountain with 
a stairway 360 feet long going up it. It was awfully 
cold and slippery and icy, but such fun going up. 

197 


1 98 Mary in California 

Mrs. Norton asked me if I didn’t wish I had an 
aeroplane. Of course I did. I tell you we were tired 
when we got down. But you ought to have seen 
the view. Snow covered mountains all over. The 
Sierras they call them. Mount Whitney is the high- 
est mountain in the United States except Alaska. 
It doesn’t stand all alone like Blanca did in Colorado. 
There are lots of mountains and Whitney is the 
highest peak. I wanted to go to the top, but it was 
too late in the season. 

“You all must go there sometime. Mother would 
just have fits. But those trees I Just think of driv- 
ing a big auto along one just like a road. You ought 
to have seen it. Please send me a dollar. There’s 
a boy here who has an old pistol he wants to sell 
for a dollar and I want it. Please send it quick. 

“Your loving Dave. 

“P.S. — The Nortons send love. They want you 
to come down to the flower festival in the Christmas 
holidays. They say it’s too cold to go to that other 
park unless you want to go for the winter sports.” 

We read this letter aloud on the Friday night be- 
fore our visit to the fleet. 

“Poor Dave,” said Trix, “I wish he could go with 
us to-morrow.” 

“But what a great trip he must have had,” said 
the Doctor. “Think of getting all those pages of 
writing out of Dave. I don’t believe he ever wrote 
so much in his life. Here’s another P.S. — ‘I am 
using most of this for English theme.’ ” 

“I thought there was some reason for the length 
of it,” I remarked. “How do you like the Nortons’ 
suggestions of the Rose Festival in Pasadena for 
our last adventure here before going north?” 


From the Sequoias to the “ Resolute ” 199 

For we were to leave Mills after the first semester 
and were to motor up to Washington. 

“Oh, Daddy, Winifred wants us to join a winter 
party to the Yosemite,” said Mary. “There’s going 
to be skiing and all sorts of fun. That would be lots 
nicer. It would be wonderful.” 

“Well, we won’t decide it now. Perhaps we can 
split the party. I am sorry Dave cannot go with us 
to the ships. Perhaps he may have another chance 
to see them later. We can’t have everything in this 
world,” and with this bit of philosophy the Doctor 
got up and led the way to supper. 

That evening the ’phone rang and Mary answered 
it, saying as she went, “I bet the ball game is put 
off and Dr. Brewster will tell us to come some other 
time.” 

The next moment she called, “Daddy, Daddy, 
some one wants to speak to you at a hospital. I 
can’t make out just where.” 

The Doctor went to the ’phone and we could hear 
his side of the conversation. 

“Hello,—” 

“Yes,—” 

“Yes,—” 

“You mean on the ’phone? — ” 

“Do you mean that they want me to go over and 
see them to-night? — ” 

“Do you know what they want? — ” 

“About a ring? I’ve heard enough of rings I — ” 
“Dying rascals! — ” 

“Well, I’ll try to stop in late to-morrow after- 
noon or Sunday. How do I get to your place? — ” 


200 


Mary in California 

“Were they moved there? I was afraid I would 
have to go to Sausalito. Then I think I can make 
it late to-morrow. — ” 

“It may be interesting, but I hope they have no 
knives concealed about their persons. One of them 
at least is right handy with a knife. — ” 

“Good-by.—” 

“Oh, Daddy, what is it all about?” asked Mary. 
“It sounded very exciting.” 

“Our friends El Lobo and Wing Wang want to 
see me. Sort of dying confession or other. I don’t 
want to go, but I don’t like to refuse to go and see a 
dying patient, even if he is a rascal.” 

“You said something about my ring.” 

“I didn’t. The other fellows did. If I ever get 
hold of it again, I shall drop it in San Francisco 
Bay. I’ll stop off to-morrow on the way back from 
the ball game.” 

“Oh, Mother, isn’t it wonderful to think that 
the game is to-morrow? And the stars are all out. 
I just looked a minute ago. It will be nice weather. 
And, oh, Mother, may I wear my white sailor 
dress?” 

“That would seem to be suitable,” I replied 
gravely. 

“Do you want me to wear a sailor suit too?” 
asked her father. 

“Wouldn’t Dad look funny in a sailor suit!” 
laughed Trix, in great amusement. 

“Don’t you think it would be becoming, Trix?” 

“Oh, Daddy, you’re such a funny man.” 

“If I’m a funny man, you had better look out. 


From the Sequoias to the u Resolute )} 201 

For funny men always carry little girls upstairs and 
throw them out of the window.” 

At this Trix gave a shriek of gleeful terror, and 
rushed out of the room, pursued by her father. 

“That’s a good way to get her upstairs to bed,” 
observed Mary. “When do we start to-morrow?” 

“We are to be at the dock at eleven-thirty, so I 
think we ought to leave the college here by ten 
o’clock. It’s quite a bit of a walk to the fast trolley.” 

“It is going to be such fun. I expect the girls are 
all sick of the thought of it, I have talked so much 
about it the past week. I do wish Dave were com- 
ing. He’d love it.” 

The great Saturday dawned at last, “brite and 
fair,” as a Real Boy was wont to say in his Real 
Diary. 

While I was doing the week-end ordering, I could 
hear the wails and stamping of feet and protests 
that always accompany any special toilet efforts be- 
tween Maria and Trix. 

“Now, Trixy, vill you keep still? Maria vill not 
hurt you. — Maria must get the dirt from behint 
your ears, my darling. — Your hair vill not look 
pretty if Maria does not get out the snarls, my 
dearest.” 

Presently Mary appeared in her white sailor dress 
and soon after Trix came softly down the stairs, 
with a certain shyness that meant cleanliness ac- 
complished and sorrows over. 

“Where’s Daddy? Isn’t he here yet?” asked 
Mary. 

“No, we are to pick him up at the college. Bless 


202 Mary in California 

your heart, it’s only half past nine. We don’t start 
till ten.” 

“But, Mother, you aren’t going to wear that house 
dress?” 

“I had not planned to,” I replied. “Don’t worry, 
I’ll be ready.” 

“Don’t you take any lunch mit you?” asked Maria, 
poking her head in at the door. 

“Now, Maria, why should we when we are going 
to dine with real officers on a real boat!” answered 
Mary indignantly. 

“Is dat so?” was Maria’s response. 

At last we were ready and off, and even the Doc- 
tor had been coaxed from his desk and we walked 
through the beautiful pines and eucalyptus trees of 
the college grounds. Here and there were great 
palms, or an old gnarled live oak, with its branches 
spreading about quaintly. 

“It seems so strange to see all the palms growing. 
It is almost like the tropics,” I said. 

We were passing a beautiful formal garden with 
fine trees and plants. 

“Can’t we get some ice cream?” begged Trix as 
we approached the little store on a corner near the 
trolley crossing where Mills’ students love to come 
for off-campus sweets. 

“Indeed not,” I replied. “It is too early in the 
morning.” 

“Beside we may be late,” said Mary. 

“Maria would have let me,” remarked Trix sadly. 

Finally we reached the trolley and then the ferry, 
which seemed to Mary and Trix to take an endless 


From the Sequoias to the “ Resolute ” 203 

time crossing the bay. But there was some comfort 
in gazing at the distant fleet which we were about to 
visit, and being sure that it was still there, in the blue 
water, to be visited. 

On Dock OO we found a spruce young naval offi- 
cer who saluted and made friends at once. 

“My name is Raymond, sir. Dr. Brewster sent 
me for your party, sir.” 

Alongside the dock was a ship’s boat with four 
sailors, their oars standing straight up in the air in 
honor of our appearance. Swiftly we were trans- 
ported to the destroyer Resolute } where willing 
hands assisted us to the deck. 

There Dr. Brewster, a fine-looking, dark-haired 
man of about forty, bade us welcome, and shook 
hands with each in turn. 

“Where’s the boy, where’s Dave?” he asked. 

“Dave couldn’t come,” answered the Doctor. 
“He had a long week-end holiday last week, and this 
Saturday had to stay at the school.” 

“That’s too bad. Now, who wants to go down, 
way down, below in the ship and who wants to wan- 
der over the decks? It will probably be pretty oily 
and messy down where the engines are.” 

“I want to go down,” said Trix promptly. 

“May we, Mother?” asked Mary. 

“Of course you may,” Dr. Brewster replied. 
“But suppose we old folks stay on deck. Mr. Ray- 
mond will take you down and answer* all your 
questions. He knows a lot more about that part 
than I do.” 

So afte- we had gone over the deck and had 


204 


Mary in California 

climbed the conning tower and had the great guns 
revolved about for our benefit, the ensign took 
Mary and Trix below while Dr. Brewster showed 
us his own pleasant cabin. 

“It’s great to see you again, Doc,” he said, as we 
sat at peace, while the men smoked. “What brings 
you here to the coast? I didn’t know anything would 
tempt you from New England. Thought I remem- 
bered your saying something like that the last time 
I saw you.” 

The Doctor laughed. “Why, we came here for 
business, sightseeing, and peace, and we’ve run into 
a regular moving picture series of adventures.” 

“Gracious, what’s happened?” 

The Doctor proceeded to tell about Mary’s find- 
ing the ring in New Mexico and losing it; how she 
recovered it from the apparently dying half-breed; 
how it was stolen by the Chinese, Wing Wang; our 
adventures with the smugglers on the Channel 
Islands; and finally of our trip to Bolinas and the 
telephone message of the night before. 

“No wonder the movie people all come to Cali- 
fornia,” so ended the Doctor, “it seems to be in the 
air.” 

“Maybe you brought it with you, Doc,” said 
Brewster. “I remember you were always running 
into things abroad. Did you ever tell your wife how 
we went out in the lorry and suddenly found our- 
selves on a road marked Strassburg and heading 
straight for it? But really, now, you spin a good 
yarn. I am glad for your sakes those two fellows 
are about to leave California for good. Those 


From the Sequoias to the “Resolute” 205 

Chinese secret societies are nasty things to run up 
against. I wonder what they want of you. Be sure 
you keep at a distance, for they are handy with a 
knife at all times. I’ve seen quite a lot of those 
fellows here and in China. The high caste are won- 
derful. They can put it all over a European for 
manners and persistence. I’ve sworn a dozen times 
I wouldn’t give some old Chinaman what he wanted, 
no matter how polite he was, and suddenly I’d find 
I’d done it and was thanking him for the chance ! 

“They usually have a suave mandarin in the con- 
sular offices to do Chinese work for us. If the Con- 
sul isn’t a strong character the Chinaman will own 
the place before a month is out. It seems as though 
they hypnotized us. And persistent! I’ve known 
a fellow who didn’t look as if he had strength enough 
to smoke his opium pipe come in day after day to 
ask a favor that had been refused each time. And 
by Jove ! in the end he always wins out.” 

“Do you know anything about the secret society 
we have apparently run into?” I asked. 

“I’ve heard of it, I think. But Captain Donald 
knows more about it. He’s quite an authority on 
Chinese intrigues. We’ll ask him at mess. But do 
you know, I’ve a great admiration for these orien- 
tals. I know I’ll never understand ’em, but the low 
castes make wonderful servants and the high castes 
make wonderful acquaintances. 

“Look here, Doc, do you remember that colored 
M. P. trying to run traffic regulations in a French 
town? I don’t know what made me think of him 
just then. He was as big as the giant in Barnum’s 


20 6 


Mary in California 

circus and he was having a lovely time trying to 
make the French peasant obey the traffic rules. It 
was a great sight.” 

“Yes, and do you remember the colored sergeant 
who said, ‘I ain’t goin’ back ovah no ocean, boss, 
I’se goin’ home by New Orleans I’ ” 

So the two men talked over their experiences of 
the great war, and I listened with a thankful heart 
to think that it was over. 

We were interrupted by Trix’s shrill little voice 
calling, “Mother, Daddy,” and Ensign Raymond 
appeared with Mary and Trix. 

“It was great, Daddy, you ought to have come,” 
said Mary. “We went way down the funniest little 
ladder and we heard all about everything. Mr. Ray- 
mond told us how they sunk the three U-boats.” 

“And we saw the sailors’ hammocks and a goat,” 
chimed in Trix. “It’s their maxgoat.” 

“What?” demanded Dr. Brewster. 

Trix immediately became shy and hid behind me. 

“It was a maxgoat,” she murmured. 

“I think she means mascot,” I interpreted. 

“Yes, that’s what I mean. Anyway, he was a nice 
goat. And there’s rabbits, too, and a cat.” 

“They’ve been all over with us,” said Dr. Brew- 
ster. “The cat came from England and the goat 
and the rabbits from France. Well, let’s go down 
to mess, for I hear eight bells and we want to be 
prompt.” 

It was pleasant sitting at the captain’s table, al- 
though the dining cabin was very small compared to 
the saloon of a great ocean liner. 


From the Sequoias to the <( Resolute ,f 207 

Dr. Brewster immediately made the Doctor tell 
his story over again. When he came to the part 
about the smugglers in the Channel Islands, Captain 
Donald, a red-haired Scotchman, interrupted. 

“I heard about those fellows. They were caught, 
too, and that New England captain got off because 
nothing could actually be proved against him. The 
revenue men had an exciting chase before they caught 
the big boat. They found some of the injured man’s 
property on board. But that would not have been 
enough evidence, had not the revenue officer recov- 
ered, thanks to you, Doctor, doubtless, and given his 
testimony with great enthusiasm. There was a lot 
of liquor on board, too, and there was a fine bit of a 
scrap before the capture was made. Those smug- 
glers are tough customers.” 

“But look here, Captain,” said Dr. Brewster, “we 
want you to tell us about the secret ring and the 
secret societies.” 

“And I want the Doctor to finish his story. My 
interruption was only in the way of a parenthesis,” 
answered Captain Donald. 

When the Doctor had told of all our adventures, 
he asked the captain if he knew anything more about 
the secret society and the ring. 

“It is a very interesting society,” said the captain. 
“It was started many centuries ago to preserve the 
liberties of China both against foreign enemies and 
tyrants at home. It took in peasant and mandarin. 
There were always to be two leaders, one low caste 
and the other high. They each wore a ring to signify 
their leadership. They look to a republic or a com- 


208 Mary in California 

plete democracy, where all shall be equal. They 
symbolized their purpose in rather a beautiful old 
story. It was told to me in Pekin once, just after 
the Boxer rebellion, by a fine old mandarin clad in 
the most beautiful silk coat I have ever seen. 

“The legend runs that a peasant boy, who was 
tender hearted for the weak ones of the earth, once 
rescued a bluebird. The bird in gratitude brought 
him a strange ring with a jade dragon on it. The 
boy did not know what the meaning of it was, but 
kept it carefully. When he was grown he heard one 
day that the beautiful daughter of the Emperor 
could not move her hands, but always kept them 
clasped together, thus signifying, the mandarin told 
me, how the rich and powerful keep their wealth for 
themselves. The Emperor announced that he would 
give half his kingdom and the hand of the Princess 
beside to any one who could cure the Princess. The 
peasant had seen her afar off one day, and had 
thought her so bonnie that he wished he could help 
her. 

“So he went to the palace, taking with him the ring 
that the bird had long ago given him, hoping it 
might be of use. Sure enough, when he slipped his 
ring on her finger, she opened her hands with a glad 
laugh, and there was another ring, just like the one 
the bird had brought. 

“Thus peasant and princess were united and the 
two rings typified the union. But long ago one 
ring disappeared; legends have it that it was carried 
to a far country. When the two rings shall come 
together, then a new free day will dawn for China. 


From the Sequoias to the “Resolute” 209 

Such was the story told me in far more beautiful 
words than I can give it with my broad Scotch 
tongue.” 

“Is it possible,” asked Dr. Brewster, “that Mary 
here may have found the other ring? I can hardly 
believe it.” 

“Evidently the Chinese believe it! I think you 
have seen the last of your ring, my dear,” he added, 
turning to Mary. “But I will certainly be glad to 
hear what your two men have to say to you to-night. 
Will you let me know?” 

“I will indeed. That is a most interesting yarn. 
I certainly hope that poor old China may be indeed 
entering on a time of happiness,” said the Doctor. 

“And now we ought to be off, if we want to see 
the ball game,” said Dr. Brewster. “You young 
folks ought to have something to represent the Navy. 
I’ll get Raymond to bring you some hatbands with 
Resolute on them, and maybe a button or two. For 
we’re all loyal tars to-day!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


NAVY VERSUS ARMY — THE LAST OF THE RING 
LL San Francisco and also the suburban towns 



^ seemed to be on the way to the baseball field. 
Dr. Brewster had an automobile waiting so that it 
was not necessary to get into a crowded trolley car. 

“It seems funny to be going to a baseball game in 
November,” said Mary. “They would be playing 
football at home.” 

“It is warm enough here for baseball,” answered 
Dr. Brewster, “and the Navy boys prefer the na- 
tional game. They are pretty good at it, too.” 

“I am glad it isn’t football,” I observed. “I feel 
as though I knew at least the A, B, C’s of baseball, 
but football is quite beyond me.” 

“The Navy has a good team, I think, but the 
Army boys are always stiff opponents. They had 
lots of practice throwing in the World War, eh, 


Doc?” 


“They did indeed. We used to learn that the 
battle of Waterloo was won on the cricket fields of 
Eton! I am sure that bat, ball, and diamond gave 
us our victories in Flanders and Lorraine.” 

“I can throw a ball,” said Trixie. 

“Of course you can,” was Dr. Brewster’s reply. 
“I’d be ashamed of any American boy or girl who 


couldn’t.” 


210 


Navy Versus Army — The Last of the Ring 21 1 

Presently our automobile fell into a great pro- 
cession of vehicles, and we slowly proceeded to the 
ball field. 

A part of the grand stand was reserved for the 
Navy sympathizers, and here we found our seats 
directly behind the wire screen with home plate right 
in front of us. The grand stand was full of officers 
in uniform, with their friends and relatives, the blues 
on the left, the khaki on the right, while in the 
bleachers were crowded all sorts of baseball fans — 
‘bluejackets, doughboys, and citizens of California. 

It was a perfect day, the kind known as Indian 
summer in New England. Dr. Brewster pointed out 
to us various celebrities, the commander of the 
Presidio fort, the visiting generals. He seemed to 
know them all by name and reputation. 

“That young fellow over there was on a mine 
sweeper, Mary. That’s a mighty dangerous occu- 
pation. Twice his boat was the only survivor of a 
little fleet. The rest were blown to kingdom come 
without warning. 

“That youngster over there was one of the fellows 
who went into Zeebrugge with an English boat 
when they sunk one of their own ships in the mouth 
of the harbor and bottled up the German Fleet.” 

“They look so young,” I said. “I have often 
heard it called a young man’s war.” 

“Humph, Foch wasn’t so young, or Hindenburg 
or Pershing. But look, here comes the team. There 
goes the Admiral to throw the first ball. Here’s 
your score card, Mary, with the names of the players 
written in. Ensign Raymond did that for you.” 


212 


Mary in California 

A great shout greeted the teams as they ran out 
and took their places on the field. A few balls were 
thrown about for practice, and then came the cry of 
the umpire, “Play ball,” and the game began in 
earnest, with the Army at bat. 

“That fellow throws a pretty ball,” remarked the 
Doctor as two khaki boys struck out. 

The third man made a two-base hit, but was left 
there when the fourth doughboy hit an easy one right 
into the hands of the first baseman. In the second 
half of the inning the Navy catcher made a three- 
base hit and then came home when his successor sent 
a swift grounder between first and second base. 
Then came three or four dull innings, a pitcher’s 
game, the Doctor called it. No runs were made 
on either side, and at the end of the seventh in- 
ning the score stood one to nothing in favor of the 
Navy. 

“This is pretty stupid,” remarked Dr. Brewster. 
“Let’s have some ginger ale and ice-cream cones. 
Maybe that will change the current.” 

“It seems to me that you must have spent all your 
money already on peanuts, Brewster,” said the Doc- 
tor severely. 

Ensign Raymond joined us at this time, declaring 
that every one was asleep on the bleachers. 

“Can’t we wake ’em up some here, Sir?” he 
wanted to know. 

The first Army man to come to bat in the eighth 
inning hit a remarkably swift ball right toward the 
pitcher, who tried to catch it. He did stop it, but 
dropped it immediately and sat down on the ground. 


Navy Versus Army — The Last of the Ring 213 

He was up in a moment and tried to throw the ball 
to second, but it went wild. The shortstop got 
it, however, and the runner remained on first. Then 
time was called. The pitcher had hurt his hand. A 
man with a black bag rushed out, made a brief exam- 
ination, and then ordered the player off the field, as 
he had a sprained wrist. 

“That’s pretty bad for us, Sir,” Raymond said. 
“We have no other pitcher. They will have to put 
in Atkins, and he’s not good at all.” 

The ensign’s prophecy proved true. Atkins al- 
lowed three runs to fall to the Army before the end 
of the inning. 

The Navy crowd then woke up and began a won- 
derful series of calls and shrieks and whistles, sup- 
posed to strike terror into their opponents and to 
hearten their own side. 

The net result was one run. At the beginning 
of the ninth inning the score was three to two in 
favor of the Army. 

“Oh, this is awful,” said Raymond. “With At- 
kins pitching they’ll run up a tremendous score. 
They may make it a hundred.” 

“Not quite as many as that,” laughed Dr. Brew- 
ster. “But it surely looks bad.” 

The gloomy fears of Ensign Raymond seemed 
about to be fulfilled. The first batter got to third 
on a long swift one which was luckily stopped by 
the right fielder in time to prevent a home run. The 
second man bunted an easy one that took him to first, 
but quick work by the catcher prevented the dough- 
boy on third from getting home. The third man 


214 Mary in California 

took his base on balls, and number two moved on 
to second. 

“Jumping Jehosophat! All the bases full and 
that fool in the pitcher’s box,” ejaculated Dr. Brew- 
ster. “Nothing but a miracle can save us.” 

A great, tall negro came to the bat, with a grin on 
his face that seemed to breathe out self-confidence. 
He evidently scorned the pitcher utterly. 

“One strike,” called the umpire. 

People Sat up. 

“One ball.” 

The Navy groaned. 

“Two balls.” 

The Navy shrieked. 

“Three balls.” 

“Nothing can save us now,” said Raymond. 

The colored soldier waved his bat derisively, and 
held it back over his shoulder. The men on bases 
took long leads and prepared to move on as the 
ball left the pitcher’s nervous hands. It came wildly 
careering through the air. 

“It will be four balls and take your base and 
another run,” groaned Ensign Raymond. 

Evidently the runners thought so, too, and the 
batter also. He started to toss his bat preparatory 
to leaving for first and lo ! the miracle that Dr. Brew- 
ster had wished for happened. Somehow the ball 
and bat collided in mid-air and the ball rolled back 
into the diamond. Before the astonished colored 
soldier could recover from his surprise, the catcher 
darted forward and touched him. 

Every one in the crowded grand stand and bleach- 


Navy Versus Army — The Last of the Ring 215 

ers rose to their feet. Words of advice were 
shrieked on all sides : 

“Throw it to third.” 

“Put him out.” 

“Out on second.” 

“Hold it.” 

“Hold it.” 

“Don’t run.” 

The catcher was a quick-witted fellow. In an 
instant he had thrown to second base, to which the 
runner tried in vain to return. 

“Double play” — howled the Navy. 

Meanwhile the man who had left third came on 
toward home. 

“Beat it, beat it!” yelled the Army. 

“Home, home !” cried everybody. 

Without an instant’s hesitation the second base- 
man threw home, a straight swift ball, and just as 
the runner slid in, the catcher touched him with the 
ball while his outstretched fingers were three inches 
from the plate. 

“By Jove, a triple play and side out,” exclaimed 
the Doctor. “I never saw a prettier bit of base- 
ball.” 

The hats of the Navy rose in the air and the air 
was rent with cheers. 

“What’s the matter with the catcher? He’s all 
right.” 

“What’s the matter with the Navy? 
right.” 

“What’s the matter with the Army?” 

“B-o-o-o-o.” 


It’s all 


2i 6 Mary in California 

“Cricky, they’re still a run ahead!” exclaimed 
Mary. 

“Oh, but we’ll beat ’em now,” said Dr. Brewster. 
“Here, Raymond, go down and tell the boys they 
have got to win.” 

The catcher, Sanford, was the first to bat. He 
was thrilled with his own great play of the previ- 
ous half inning and the cheering of the crowd. His 
bat met the ball with a sharp crack and he ended on 
third base. 

The Navy band struck up a rollicking tune. 

“They’ve bunched the good batters,” remarked 
Dr. Brewster. “That fellow at the bat is good for 
a two-bagger usually.” 

Again the bat went crack! against the ball, and 
it traveled, a swift grounder, straight out into 
the field, bringing Sanford home and putting the bat- 
ter at second. 

“No outs, one run, and a man on second. There’s 
a great chance,” the Doctor said. “But look here, 
Brewster, how about that triple play? Was that a 
fair ball?” 

“Sure. They’ll quarrel over it a bit, but I heard 
another umpire make a similar decision once before. 
If the bat hits the ball into the diamond, it’s good. 
There’s no getting around that.” 

Dead silence now reigned over the field. The 
score was a tie. Could the Navy make another 
run? 

“Here comes that awful pitcher,” said Mary. 
“He’s so clumsy he’ll never do anything.” 

But apparently clumsiness has its uses, for the bat- 


Navy V ersus Army — The Last of the Ring 217 

ter got hit by a pitched ball and went to first, while 
the man on second stole to third. 

The next batter was struck out; so was the next. 

The audience leaned forward in their seats and 
men leaned over each other’s shoulders in breathless 
excitement. 

“One strike,” called the umpire. 

No one stirred. 

“One ball.” 

The Navy let out a deep breath. 

The man on first stole to second, but no one paid 
much attention to him. 

“He can run, though, even if he can’t pitch,” I 
thought to myself. 

Crack! the bat swung and hit the swift-coming 
ball straight and true. It sped through the pitcher 
and the place where the second baseman ought to 
have been and hit the ground just before it reached 
center field. It bounded up over the outstretched 
hand of that worthy and rolled on, pursued by both 
the left and right fielders. 

Amid wild cheers from the Navy, .the man on 
third came in and the man on second came in and 
then nobody cared what happened, while the crowd 
rushed into the field and seized the last batter and 
bore him in triumph on their shoulders. 

“Aren’t they going to finish?” Mary asked. 

“No, when the batters are ahead they never fin- 
ish the last half of the ninth,” Dr. Brewster an- 
swered. “It isn’t etiquette. "Jove, Doc, that was 
some game. I’m glad we came, after all. Just see 
how fast the crowd melts away.” 


2 I 8 


Mary in California 

“And to think that the stupid pitcher actually 
made one of the winning runs,” said Mary. “I’m 
sort of glad he did. He might have felt too 
bad.” 

We went back to the ferry landing with Dr. 
Brewster in a taxi. 

“By the way, will you drop me at that hospital on 
the way?” said the Doctor. “I promised to stop and 
see those two fellows, you know.” 

“That’s right. ‘The game made me forget it.” 

So we dropped the Doctor and proceeded on our 
way. The taxi landed us at the ferry before the 
crowd, and Dr. Brewster saw us aboard. 

“You are surely all right?” he asked. “Got 
enough money to get home and all that?” 

We laughed and thanked him. 

“I forgot to say good-by to Mr. Raymond,” said 
Mary. “Will you do it for me, Dr. Brewster?” 

“I surely will, Mary. You must all come to see 
us again, and bring the boy next time !” 

So we all shook hands and we got on the ferry. 

“To think that we were really on that grim-look- 
ing, gray destroyer,” I said as we got our last look 
at the Resolute . “Trix, did you have a good time, 
and what did you like best?” 

Trix, dirty and tired, and eating an ice-cream cone 
which Dr. Brewster had given her on parting, re- 
plied: “I liked The rabbits and the goat and Mr. 
Raymond.” 

“Oh, but it was wonderful, Mother,” Mary said, 
as she leaned over the rail of the boat and looked 
across the water at the city, so enchanting in the 


Navy Versus Army — The Last of the Ring 219 

dusk of a late November afternoon. “The boat and 
the sailors and the game. Mr. Raymond certainly 
was nice. I’m going to keep the score card he made 
for me. I love the hatband, too, and don’t you 
think I could have the button made into a hatpin? 
He said they were going to sail pretty soon for the 
winter maneuvers. But maybe they’ll come to the 
East some time. He’s promised to send me some 
picture postal cards. Do you mind, Mother?” 

“Mercy, no.” 

“How old do you think he is, Mother?” 

“How old does he think you are?” I answered. 

Mary laughed. “He said seventeen, but he may 
have been joking. There was a Jackie playing on 
an accordion in the stern and we had a dance. He’s 
twenty.” 

“That isn’t so very old,” I answered; and pres- 
ently we reached the other side. 

“I wonder how your father is getting along,” I 
said as we sat in the trolley, homeward bound. 

“That’s right, I forgot about Daddy. I wonder 
if he will get my ring back,” Mary said. 

It was a couple of hours later, when Trix was in 
bed and Mary was coaxing to be allowed to stay up, 
that the Doctor arrived. He was hungry and tired, 
but as he sat by the dining table, waited on by 
Maria and myself, while Mary hovered about, he 
drew from his pocket a fine silk scarf. Wrapped in 
it were two rings almost exactly alike, silver, with 
the jade dragon and the sign of good luck on the 
back. 

“Daddy, how did you get them?” Mary cried. 


220 


Mary in California 

“It’s quite a story,” answered her father. “Let 
me eat first and then I will tell you.” 

“Dot iss right. Let him eat first,” observed 
Maria. “The poor man is tired und hongry,” and 
she brought him a plate heaped as for a grenadier. 

“Maria, you ought to have married,” said the 
Doctor. “You know how to take care of a man.” 

“Ach, Doctor, maybe I vill yet,” answered Maria. 
“I am not so olt. But I think I’ll yust take care of 
the bonies. They cannot talk so much back to me 
and he might not like me to sink. My bonies they 
like to hear me sink.” 

Supper being eaten, the Doctor got into a com- 
fortable chair, lit his pipe, and began his story. 

“That Wing Wang is surely a remarkable man. 
I think he must have hypnotized me as Dr. Brewster 
said they all did. From the minute I went into his 
tiny room and looked into his pinched yellow face_, I 
felt somehow as though I were helpless, in the clutch 
of a stronger will than mine. He spoke excellent 
English, but very slowly, as though carefully choos- 
ing his words. He told me something of the story 
that Captain Donald did, — how the two rings sig- 
nified the meeting of high and low in China, and free- 
dom for the people. 

“ ‘I cannot live,’ he said. ‘You who are a physi- 
cian must know this. And if I should live, your laws 
would condemn me to death or imprisonment. They 
will not let me see my friends. But I ask you as the 
last request of a man who is about to die, as you 
call it, to take a small parcel for me and put it into 
the hands of a Chinaman named Wu Fang who 


Navy Versus Army — The Last of the Ring 221 

works in Los Angeles, for your friends Mr. and 
Mrs. Norton.’ 

“I asked what the package contained. He replied 
that I knew already. But he drew from some place 
of concealment a ball of silk thread. This he bade 
me unwind. In the center were the two rings. I 
was startled to see them both. 

“ ‘How did you get the second one — from El 
Lobo?’ I asked. 

“He grinned. ‘He whom you call El Lobo is 
dead. The ring was mine; now it is again in the 
hands of its owner.’ 

“That was all he would tell me on that subject. 
He continued, however, to speak of El Lobo. ‘He 
was of the lowest caste, a half-breed. He wished to 
be a leader. But I, I come of a great family. I 
would have been the head of all and with these two 
rings might have brought prosperity to my country. 
But others will do it. Only the rings must not fall 
into the hands of those who would betray their coun- 
try. Promise me that you will take the rings to 
Wu Fang.’ 

“ ‘Look here,’ I said, ‘I don’t want to have any- 
thing to do with the rings or your society. I’ll get a 
knife in my back for my pains. And one of those 
rings was found by my daughter. It is an Indian 
ring.’ 

“Then he told me how long ago a prince had 
wandered away with his followers, fleeing from in- 
vading foreigners, and had carried the ring across 
the waters to a new country. ‘The Indians, as you 
call them, were once like my people,’ he added. 


222 


Mary in California 

‘Your daughter cannot keep the ring, it would bring 
her to great danger. But I will send word with the 
rings to Wu Fang to give your little daughter a costly 
gift, far more beautiful than the ring.’ 

“Well, the long and short of it was that he finally 
persuaded me against my better judgment to under- 
take the charge. Only I stipulated that I should 
give them to some trusty messenger in Oakland, and 
not have to keep them about my person till some 
chance came to go to Los Angeles. So we com- 
promised on old Chang here, the head chef at the 
college. Of course I swore secrecy, and indeed it 
wasn’t necessary. No word of this must get around. 
I suppose I may have been followed back home by 
any number of spies. I have sent for Chang. 
Heaven help him when he gets these precious 
rings !” 

“Oh, Daddy, I hate to give up my ring! But I 
wonder what they will give me, in return. It’s aw- 
fully exciting.” 

At that moment the door of the room, which was 
also the door of the house, opened noiselessly, and 
the face of a Chinaman looked in. We all jumped 
as if we had seen a ghost. But it was only Chang, 
the old head cook, who had been summoned and 
doubtless knew why. He did not seem any too anx- 
ious to undertake the charge. 

He laid the scarf on the table and remarked 
“Burn him.” Then he drew out of his pocket some 
ripe figs. He cut a segment out of two of them, 
pressed a ring into the soft pulp, and then somehow 
replaced part of the segments so that the figs looked 


Navy Versus Army — The Last of the Ring 223 

natural, though a little soiled. He replaced them 
in his pocket. 

“Wing Wang him dead. Good-by. Talk no 
good.” 

With this parting word, he went out, as noise- 
lessly as he had come. 

“That’s what you might call sudden,” I said. 

“I’ll never see my ring again. May I keep the 
scarf, Daddy?” asked Mary. 

“Chang said ‘burn him,’ and burn it I will,” re- 
plied the Doctor. 

So we wrapped the beautiful silken thing in a 
newspaper and burned it in the fireplace. 

“I hope the prosaic modern newspaper will de- 
stroy the ancient magic of the scarf,” said the Doctor 
as the whole vanished in flames up the chimney. 

“May we never hear anything more of ring or 
society.” 

“How did El Lobo die, Daddy?” Mary asked. 

“They told me at the hospital that he was poi- 
soned — they could not imagine how. And how that 
fellow Wing Wang, with his smashed body, man- 
aged it I can’t tell you myself. Any more than I can 
tell you why I promised to do his will. I believe he 
must have been a remarkable man. They will prob- 
ably find him dead of the same poison some fine 
morning. 

“Now good night all. It’s late, and we have had 
a long day. Mary is yawning her head off.” 

“I am not sleepy a bit,” said Mary indignantly; 
but a long yawn interrupted her denial. 

“It has been a great day. But I wish Dave could 


224 Mary in California 

have seen that game. I don’t think I will ever for- 
get it.” 

“I am sorry to have to say good-by to my ring,” 
was Mary’s remark as she went upstairs. “But, 
Mother, do you think I’ll ever hear from Ensign 
Raymond?” 


CHAPTER XVII 


MOVIES AND AN AEROPLANE IN LOS ANGELES 

/^HRISTMAS in California! It seemed so 
strange to hear the bells ringing from the old 
mission churches and receive a large bouquet of 
roses instead of holly wreaths. We expected to stay 
quietly at Mills College during the first part of the 
holidays at any rate. But the Nortons persuaded 
us to come and have our Christmas in Los Angeles. 

Mary and her father were to leave next day for 
winter sports in the Yosemite Park. They were to 
meet Winifred Ransome and a dozen girls at a cer- 
tain little branch station of the railroad, and then 
go on together, while Dave, Trix, and I stayed for 
the week with the Nortons, to be present on New 
Year’s Day at the famous Carnival of Roses at 
Pasadena. 

Dave was greatly disappointed that he, too, could 
not join the Yosemite party. But as the others were 
all much older, it seemed best for him to remain 
with me. 

On Christmas Eve we drove about the city to see 
the gardens, which were full of wonderful flowers, 
and then we visited the orange groves. It did not 
seem at all like the twenty-fourth of December. I 
think we missed the snow of a New England 
Christmas. 


22 5 


226 Mary in California 

Dave remarked, “This seems like the description 
of heaven in the Bible, but, Mother, I’d sort of get 
tired of it forever. Won’t there be some snow in 
heaven, don’t you think?” 

That evening there was to be a revival of a Span- 
ish miracle play in the old Pueblo church, the 
church of “Nuestra Senora, Renia de los Angeles.” 

“They used to do this every Christmas in some 
church or mission,” Mr. Norton told us, “in the days 
when the padres were supreme.” 

It was lovely in the church, where there can still 
be seen the crude frescoes done by the Indians. Be- 
fore the quaint altar sat a saintly looking young 
virgin with a real little baby in her arms. The organ 
played soft music which must have soothed the 
infant, for he behaved beautifully. The church lights 
were dimmed except those nearest the group, which 
threw a sort of halo on the mother and child. Then 
some nice shaggy old shepherds came to chant their 
praises. These were followed by a hermit and a 
soldier, who sat and played at dice instead of wor- 
shiping, while a very devilish fiend waited to seize 
their souls. 

Fortunately a handsome St. Michael in full armor 
interfered at the right moment. He drove away the 
fiend and led the two sinners to the Holy Child, 
where all knelt in prayer and penitence, and a 
choir of angels sang the Gloria with most heavenly 
voices. 

Even Trix was full of enthusiasm. She wished 
they would sing again. She wanted them to do it 
all again. She wished she could stroke the babe. 


Movies and an Aeroplane in Los Angeles 227 

She had been particularly pleased when the fiend 
made faces at her. 

“I don’t believe he did it at her,” said Mary scep- 
tically. 

“But he did, Mother, didn’t he?” Trix assured us. 

We drove home through the starlit night, the air 
soft as summer and full of the fragrance of blossoms. 

The day after Christmas Mary and her father 
left us early for their trip to the snow. They wore 
their riding things and had borrowed everything 
warm that could be had. They carried skiis and 
snowshoes and were assured that sleds and tobog- 
gans could be hired at the park itself. 

Dave had been very good about staying at home, 
but when the time actually came he was silent and 
noticeably depressed. 

“Dave,” remarked Mrs. Norton as we drove back 
from the station, “Mr. Norton and I didn’t give you 
any real Christmas present. We had a notion that 
maybe you’d like something a little different. A 
friend of ours is going to take a little flight down 
south to-day, and we persuaded him to take a pas- 
senger. How would you like that for a Christmas 
surprise?” 

There was an instantaneous change from the list- 
less boy of a moment before. 

“Oh, Mrs. Norton! Mother, may I?” 

“Of course you may,” Mrs. Norton said. “Your 
mother would never have the heart to refuse. And 
I got your father’s consent before he left.” 

“Then there is nothing left for me to say,” I re- 
marked. 


228 


Mary in California 

“Let us proceed at once to the field of honor,” 
said Mr. Norton. 

We drove out through the city to the aero field, 
where we saw a number of planes out practicing and 
heard the buzzing of the great machines. Dave’s 
face was red with excitement, and he could hardly 
keep in the auto. 

“Can’t I go, too?” begged Trix. “I know you 
won’t let me.” 

“You are quite right,” I replied. “Dave is much 
older than you. You will have to wait for a few 
years.” 

Finally we arrived at the hangar of Mr. Nor- 
ton’s friend, and found the man in question stand- 
ing beside his machine. Mrs. Norton introduced 
us. 

“Jackson is a good, safe driver,” I was assured. 

Indeed Mr. Jackson looked it. He was a man 
under thirty, with a lean strong face, and steady gray 
eyes. 

“This is my one son, Mr. Jackson,” was my only 
remark. 

“And she prefers him as he is, without any blem- 
ishes,” added Mrs. Norton. “Dave has been pes- 
tering the life out of us about aeroplanes. Give him 
a dose, but don’t do any stunts.” 

“I never do, with passengers,” was the reply. 

Then Dave was swathed in sweaters and rugs. 

“Good-by, Mother,” he called, after he had given 
me a good hug. Then he got into the machine, and 
Mr. Jackson followed. 

The machinist shoved the great aeroplane, and 


Movies and an Aeroplane in Los Angeles 229 

presently with whirring propeller, the creature 
started, faster and faster, until it rose in the air. 

Dave was a dot in the distance. 

“Well, we might as well take a drive, for Jackson 
will be gone for a couple of hours,” said Mrs. Nor- 
ton. “He has to run down, or fly down, to Palm 
Springs.” 

“But that is miles away, isn’t it? It sounds as if 
it were.” 

“It’s only about one hundred and twenty miles. 
That’s nothing in a plane,” Mr. Norton answered. 

“It seems quite far to a staid old New Englander,” 
I said. 

“How would you like to run over to Hollywood, 
where they take a lot of the movies?” Mrs. Norton 
suggested. 

Trix exclaimed with pleasure, so we started off, 
while I hastened to explain that Trix had only wit- 
nessed half a dozen movie shows in her life. 

“Of course she’s much too young,” I added. 
“Even the special children’s performances don’t 
really amuse her as much as she thinks they will. I 
wish they had more films with just fairy stories or 
nature pictures, the way they do in Germany, I am 
told.” 

“We may come to it some day,” said Mrs. Norton. 

We found the big studios and scenes most inter- 
esting, and had our pictures taken on the spot that 
was usually occupied by Tom Mix and his circus 
parties. 

“Mary ought to be here,” said Mrs. Norton. 
“I’ll wager she loves the movies.” 


230 Mary in California 

“I can’t deny it,” was my answer. 

They happened to be staging a comedy with the 
usual exciting scenes, people falling out of windows 
and landing in pools of water, china flung about reck- 
lessly, and finally a real pig was introduced, which 
pleased Trix greatly. 

They took six reels of two small children in the 
process of dressing. The youngsters were about two 
years old, and were extremely funny as they played 
and put on their clothes alternately. Occasionally 
one of them would lose his balance over a button 
and tumble down. This worried Trix, and suddenly, 
before I could stop her, she ran onto the stage and 
tried to help the little boy to button his shoe. 

I was filled with consternation, and called to Trix 
to come back instantly, which she did. We apolo- 
gized to the manager, a big, genial Irishman. 

“It was a bit unexpected loik,” was his comment. 
“But she’s got a real Irish head of hair on her, and 
she will just add a touch to the picture.” 

“Do you mean I’m in the picture?” gasped Trix. 

“Bedad, yes,” was the answer. “And a foin ac- 
tress you’ll be. You’ll be sure to see the film when it 
comes on the stage, young lady.” 

Then he gravely shook hands with Trix, leaving 
us rather breathless. 

“You certainly are up to everything, Trix,” said 
Mrs. Norton. “I should think your mother’s eyes 
would be worn out looking after you and her slipper 
in frazzles from spanking you !” 

“I didn’t mean to do anything naughty, Mother,” 
pleaded Trix. “I just wanted to help the little boy.” 


Movies and an Aeroplane in Los Angeles 231 

“And quite right, too,” said Mrs. Norton. “He 
looked like a stupid child, who couldn’t dress himself 
properly without tumbling all over himself.” 

“May I go and see it, Mother?” asked Trix. 
“Will I really be in the picture?” 

“You will indeed. Let us not tell your father, 
and take him to see it some time. Wouldn’t it be a 
lark? But I don’t believe that either of us could 
keep the secret from him as long as that.” 

Up in the hills was an open air theater where many 
performances are given each year of the Pilgrimage 
Play, scenes from the Life of Christ. 

“Thousands come to see it,” Mr. Norton told us. 
“I wish you had been able to go when you were here 
in September. It really is most impressive and 
beautiful.” 

After a while we drove leisurely back to get Dave. 
But we had to wait for some time before he returned, 
and meanwhile Trix and Mr. Norton went into sev- 
eral hangars and she climbed into a stationary aero- 
plane, saying that it was almost as much as Dave had 
done. 

At last came the whirring sound overhead, and 
presently the huge birdlike creature slowly descended 
and brought back to earth a much excited boy. He 
found it a little hard to get his balance on the solid 
earth, but his tongue seemed to have been wound 
up by the rapid motion. 

“Mother, it was wonderful. I wasn’t scared, was 
I, Mr. Jackson? Only just at first. I felt sort of 
seasick, like going upside down in a hammock. But 
I loved it. I’m going to have one some day. Mr. 


232 


Mary in California 

Jackson told me how to work ’em. Mother, it was 
great at Palm Springs. They were making some 
pictures of desert scenes, you know, for the movies. 
They had a charge of Arabs on camels that was 
great. Only they went sort of slow. I guess they’ll 
run it through quicker. There were lots of cactuses 
there. And we saw orange groves, millions of them, 
and walnut trees on the way. And we saw the snow 
peaks and the ocean on the other side.” Dave 
paused for breath. 

‘‘I was taken in a movie picture,” said Trix calmly. 

“Aw, now, Mother, that isn’t true,” commented 
Dave. 

“Yes, it is true. But Trix, I thought we were 
going to keep it a secret. How did the earth look, 
Dave, from an aeroplane? How did you feel?” 

“It looked like it does from the top of a big high 
mountain, only it wobbled. It seemed to sort of 
move up and down, as it does when you’re seasick. 
It was cold, too, and the sun was bright enough to 
hurt your eyes. We went so fast, Mother. It was 
bully. Trains and autos will seem awful slow.” 

“Did he behave all right, Jackson?” asked Mr. 
Norton. 

“Did he want to run it for you?” demanded Mrs. 
Norton. 

The aviator laughed. “Dave’s all right,” he re- 
plied. “He’s going again with me some time. He’ll 
make an airman if he works hard enough. He 
seems to have a natural taste for machinery and 
going fast.” 

“It certainly was good of you to take him. I can’t 


Movies and an Aeroplane in Los Angeles 233 

thank you enough for giving him so much pleasure,” 
I said. “Have you thanked Mr. Jackson, Dave?” 

“He surely did. It was just a pleasure anyway, 
and no trouble, as I was out on business.” 

We shook hands, and then Dave got into the auto, 
with evident reluctance. He hated to leave the aero- 
plane. 

“Hurry up, Dave, you can’t take it with you,” 
laughed Mrs. Norton. “Bless the boy, he’s in- 
satiable.” 

We received several postals from Mary and her 
father. They were having a perfect time, they 
wrote. 

“Yesterday several feet of snow fell,” the Doc- 
tor’s card said. “It’s funny not to measure by inches. 
Dave would be satisfied.” 

“I am,” observed Dave, who was curled up in a 
chair on the porch reading “The Aero Service in the 
Great War.” 

“You ought to see the snow men we built,” came 
on a postal from Mary. “We sat them on sleds and 
pulled them around. There are some real artists 
at it here. My, it’s cold, though.” 

Dave sipped luxuriously at a long glass of grape 
juice and smiled in a superior fashion. 

“We climbed into a crevasse,” wrote the Doctor 
on their next to last day. “It was very narrow and 
slippery, and we could hardly get through. It was 
pretty exciting because a fall would be fatal. The 
blue-green ice cave, like water solidified, is marvel- 
ous. Tell Trix we had a great snowball fight yes- 
terday. Ten against ten and no quarter given. 


234 Mary in California 

Several got their faces well rubbed into the soft 
snow.” 

“It doesn’t seem possible that they are only eight 
or ten hours away,” I said. “With these lovely 
flowers here.” 

“We get snow and ice sports much nearer than 
that,” answered Mrs. Norton. “Just a two hours’ 
ride up into the mountains close beside us ! A party 
went up yesterday for a night’s sport. But of course 
you don’t have the wonderful scenery here. I don’t 
think there is anything to compare with the Yosem- 
ite in winter, or summer either for that matter. You 
have the Grand Canon and Niagara Falls and Swit- 
zerland all combined, and the great trees thrown in 
for good luck. At one big camp, they always light a 
bonfire and drop it from the immense height of 
Glacier Point just before retiring, which means 
‘lights out.’ I wonder if your people will see bears. 
They used to be quite tame.” 

Her question was answered by Mary’s last letter. 

“I haven’t time to write, but I must tell Trix 
about the bears. We were hanging around the 
kitchen early in the morning, having had a sunrise 
party up the valley. There was a smell of bacon 
cooking and it certainly smelled good ! All of a 
sudden I looked around, thinking I heard footsteps, 
and there was a great huge bear. I yelled and rushed 
toward the house. A man poked his head out of 
the door and called to me, ‘Don’t scare that bear, 
little girl. He comes for his breakfast every morn- 
ing afore you’re up !” 

“The bear went right past Dad and began rooting 


Movies and an Aeroplane in Los Angeles 235 

around and knocking over garbage pails. I watched 
him from the window. I guess he wanted bacon as 
much as we did. 

“They told us afterward that when there’s been 
a heavy snowfall, all the animals come around when 
they smell food, and that the bears are most indiffer- 
ent to people. Sometimes they take food out of the 
camps. They seem to me pretty big for pets.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A FAREWELL GIFT FROM CHINA 

CO while Mary and her father were skiing or slid- 
^ ing under the shadows of El Capitan, the mighty 
guardian of the gates to the Yosemite paradise, Mr. 
and Mrs. Norton, Dave, Trix, and I started for 
the Tournament of Roses in Pasadena. Beautiful 
Pasadena ! It might be called spotless town. 
Bushes were pruned, lawns were cut, and the palms in 
the street gave the city an appearance as of a huge 
formal garden, made by some Aladdin overnight. 
There were flowers everywhere — roses, of course. 
Pink and white and crimson and yellow, they seemed 
to be growing on the streets, in the windows, in the 
gardens, over the house, a veritable fairyland. 

There were other flowers, too, the deep purple 
of the violets blending with the softer colors. The 
air was full of the softest fragrance as if one stood 
under a lilac bush in full bloom. There was a great 
procession of carriages and autos and floats, all 
decorated with garlands of flowers, as in the East we 
would decorate with bunting and flags. 

We sat in the Nortons’ auto and watched the 
floats passing, great barges of symbolic figures, or 
full of charming fairylike creatures, embedded in 
flowers. 

“This simply can’t be the first of January,” I 
236 



GREAT BARGES OF SYMBOLIC FIGURES 
(Photo from Star News Company, Pasadena] 





THIS SIMPLY CAN T BE THE FIRST OF JANUARY 








A Farewell Gift from China 237 

said. “I won’t believe that flowers can grow like 
this, even in California.” 

“But, Mother, I saw fields and fields of them from 
the aeroplane, just like colored squares in a checker- 
board,” Dave answered. 

“Oh, yes, I have seen them, too, from the auto, 
but I can’t believe it all the same.” 

“Just as I can’t believe that I really went up in 
the machine,” murmured Dave. 

The different schools and city organizations repre- 
sented, hotels and newspapers — all vied with each 
other in friendly competition to see who could pro- 
duce the most beautiful effect. There was a Dutch 
windmill of flowers, drawn by three perfect horses; 
there was an Indian scene; there was a flower- 
formed Viking ship with a jolly crew of schoolgirls; 
and a gaily decorated auto belonging to one of the 
colleges carried a huge football of flowers. Horses, 
too, were not lacking, and Dave called my attention 
to their long flowing tails. 

“It is so much prettier,” he said, “than the horrid 
short tails we’d be likely to see in an eastern parade, 
unless they were cavalry horses.” 

The animals also were garlanded with flowers, 
and Trix was delighted with a fine fat pony which 
looked like an animated flower garden. 

One float representing East and West, and con- 
taining a delightfully flowery snow mam with a pipe 
in his mouth, caused Trixy to cry out “That’s just 
like the man we made last winter,” much to the pleas- 
ure of the other bystanders. 

After the procession there were games; a chariot 


238 Mary in California 

race and a football game. Enormous crowds 
watched them, gathered from every quarter of the 
world, I think. I know there were Chinese and 
Italians and Spanish and Mexicans, and I heard an 
unmistakable voice from Maine observe, “Godfrey 
scissors, them hosses certainly can run.” It was a 
joyous America that we were watching at play. It 
seemed like a foreign land more than our own be- 
loved country. 

Dave and his father and Mrs. Norton stayed to 
see the “East and West” football game which has 
grown to be one of the features of the Festival of 
Roses. Meanwhile, Mr. Norton took Trix and me 
for a little run in the car, out to the wonderful dam 
at the Devil’s Gate, that great and beautiful feat of 
engineering which stores up the water for the city. 
Surely since the days of the Roman aqueducts 
nothing has been more graceful and impressive than 
this dam and the winding Colorado street bridge 
over the Arroyo Seco. 

Mr. Norton’s nephew and his wife came in for 
supper that night, and we told them of our many 
adventures and how we had finally given up the 
ring. 

“By the way,” I said, “isn’t your cook here? He 
was the one who was to get the rings. I wonder if 
he ever did receive them.” 

“I imagine so,” answered Mr. Norton. “He 
seems perfectly normal, so they have not hurt him 
any as yet.” 

“You’d better look out for squalls,” Dave re- 
marked. “I hope they are not in the house.” 


239 


A Farewell Gift from China 

“Wu Fang always goes home to sleep. He prob- 
ably keeps them there,” replied Mr. Norton. “It is 
too bad that Mary had to lose her treasure.” 

“Wing Wang promised to give her something else 
in return,” Dave observed. “I guess she’ll get some- 
thing.” 

“In the meantime I am very glad to have seen the 
last of the ring,” I said. “And Wing Wang and 
El Lobo, I trust they will rest in peace and not come 
and haunt us. For we obeyed orders.” 

We sat through the evening planning for future 
meetings in the East. We were to leave Mills so 
soon that it seemed unlikely that we would meet 
again in the West. It was hard to think of leaving 
so many good friends. 

We had to be up early in the morning to get our 
train for San Francisco. But early as we were, we 
found Wu Fang waiting for us. He had been a 
silent, efficient worker, so that I was surprised when 
he addressed me. 

“Lil gal not come back here?” 

“No, Wu Fang, she and the Doctor will join us 
in San Francisco.” 

“Lil box for her,” he observed, and took from 
the inside of his waiter’s white coat a tiny Chinese 
box of exquisite workmanship. 

“Carry him safe?” he asked, evidently mistrust- 
ing my powers. 

“I think I can, if nobody tries to rob me.” 

“Make lil gal safe everywhere,” he said, and 
promptly went about his business of serving break- 
fast. 


240 Mary in California 

The box was not locked in any way, but I wrapped 
it carefully in paper and put it in my handbag with 
my purse. 

“I am sure to watch both now,” I thought. 

I did not tell Dave and Trix, for I knew they 
would give me no rest until I had opened the box and 
discovered its contents. My own curiosity was hard 
enough to restrain. I could not have stood theirs. 

We bade friendly farewell to our good friends at 
the station. We certainly were sorry to part from 
them. 

“Maybe you will come back in an aeroplane, 
Dave,” Mrs. Norton said at the last, and then 
we got into the train that was to carry us back to 
Oakland. 

It was a long day, and the little box fairly burned 
in my bag, as the saying is. I think I must have 
looked at it a hundred times to be sure that it was 
safe, and I was certainly glad when the train came 
to a final stop and the Doctor’s tall figure was visible 
on the platform, with Mary beside him. It was dark 
and I was glad of the taxi that whirled us away to 
Mills and the pleasant house that seemed so much like 
home. 

Mary was full of her adventures in the Yosemite 
— the glorious frozen waterfalls, the great drifts and 
caves of snow, the glaciers, the ice caves and El 
Capitan, rising sheer out of the valley. They had 
climbed and skiied and tobogganed and snowshoed, 
and they were tired and sunburned from exposure 
to the burning sun and the icy winds. Trix and Dave 
were sunburned from quite a different reason, and 


A Farewell Gift from China 241 

told of the events In which they had taken part, the 
Rose festival, the aeroplane trip to the desert, the 
moving pictures. Between them there was not a 
chance for the Doctor and me to get in a word. 

Finally, after supper, which was a wonderful feast 
that Maria had prepared, I declared, “If you chil- 
dren will keep still for one minute, I have something 
for Mary which may interest her.” 

Instantly there was a hush. Then I drew from 
my bag the little carved sandalwood box and handed 
it to Mary. 

“Wu Fang sent it to the ‘lil gal,’ ” I said. “It 
will always make her safe.” 

Mary opened it with fingers that fairly trembled 
with eagerness. Inside was something wrapped in 
the finest of rice papers. The strange perfume of 
the East seemed to come from it and breathed ro- 
mance and danger. 

Mary opened the paper — and, “Oh, Mother! 
Oh, Daddy!” she cried. 

Inside was a single jewel, an opal, which appeared 
to throw out fire from its quaint silver setting. 

“What is it! what is it?” exclaimed Trix. 

“Isn’t it pretty!” said Dave. “But I’d rather 
have the ring.” 

“That’s one of the most beautiful stones I have 
ever seen,” said the Doctor. “It isn’t very large, 
but a perfect fire opal. It must be worth a lot of 
money. I wonder what royal treasury or temple 
loot it came from.” 

“Ought Mary to keep it?” was my question. 

“I don’t know to whom she could return it. But 


242 


Mary in California 

I think it is too valuable for her to wear all the time. 
It must be put away for safe-keeping and made into 
a pendant or a ring when she is older.” 

“It would be terrible to lose it,” said Mary. “I 
never saw anything so beautiful. May I show it to 
Winifred?” 

“To-morrow, but not to-night. Well, Wing Wang 
kept his word. He had that in his favor. Some- 
how, I have a sort of uncanny feeling that his will 
still exists and that he will watch over the stone.” 

“Don’t be so spooky, Dad,” answered Mary. “I 
surely am glad we came to California. This opal 
is worth all the rings in creation. Now I am ready 
to start for home.” 

“But it is hard to say good-by to all our good 
friends,” I said. 

“We can only hope to lure them to the East some 
time.” 

“Can’t we take Maria and the bonies?” asked 
Trix. 

“I am sure I wish we could,” I answered. “But 
I’m afraid she would be hard to move, and the 
‘bonies’ belong to the house.” 

“We have had a great time,” said the Doctor. 
“I wonder if the opal will lead us a dance like the 
ring? I don’t believe it. I think hereafter we can 
enjoy a peaceful existence.” 

“That would be so stupid,” answered Mary. 




















